


Ældu Drýlác, Edníwe Eorðe

by DarkWolfMoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkWolfMoon/pseuds/DarkWolfMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has been waiting a long time for Arthur to return, mainly out of mainstream wizarding society. But when Merlin feels the reemergence of Old Magic in this new world. The warlock feels himself being drawn into a conflict he promised himself that he stay out of. But with perhaps the promise of Albion on the horizon, how can he stay away?</p><p>The title is in Old English and translates roughly to: Old Magic, New World</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Whiff of Magic

Merlin woke before dawn with a start, gold shimmering in his eyes. The air was thick and it felt like the centuries-old warlock was trying to breathe cloth instead of air. It took him a moment to realize that the feeling was magic.

Not the paltry tricks that had evolved since the fall of Camelot, not the kind exercised by the Ministry of Magic and the witches and wizards living under it. No, this was _magic_ —world-shaping, destiny-changing magic—magic so potent it required a capital M.

Old Magic.

Merlin stumbled out of the house and into the grey pre-dawn light. He was only steps from the lakeshore, waiting as he had been for Arthur’s return.

And it seemed that he was still waiting. He could feel Arthur beyond the veil in Avalon, still waiting for the proper time for his return.

But if it wasn’t Arthur’s return, what was that surge of Old Magic? It could mean that Morgana had been reborn in the world, heralding the need for Arthur in the world again.

Merlin went back inside the house, hunting down the spell book he hadn’t used in years. He didn’t have much use for tracking spells, especially while he was living beside the only objective he’d had for more than a millennia. He had modified it many years ago for Arthur, though Merlin wasn’t actually conscious of doing that. Poison eating its way through one’s body tended not to leave many coherent memories. Gaius had told him that he used it, and that he modified it.

This time, he would put the spell to its proper use: tracking down the caster who was using Old Magic.

* * *

 At first, Merlin was having a little trouble with the spell. It would return to him or to the lake, the largest sources of Old Magic left in the world. For the fourth time, the little blue orb of light sank through the window and bounced above the spell book in Merlin’s lap.

“Damn it, you stupid little wisp. I _know_ I have Old Magic. I _know_ that Avalon contains Old Magic, too! I need you to find the one that isn’t here!”

Up in the rafters, an undersized grey owl hooted softly.

“You think that’s funny, Freidle? How about I send you after it instead of this stupid spell?” The owl hooted again and disappeared behind a cross-beam. “Don’t want to? Then keep your opinions to yourself! Bloody pigeon.”

He sent the spell off again, searching for a dormant source of Old Magic. He just needed to find it once, then he could track it. The stupid spell only needed to work once…

* * *

 

After a week, Merlin thought that this spell had failed too and he began to brainstorm another way of finding the caster. While searching his library for other tracking spells, the little blue orb appeared twelve days after it had been sent out.

It hung in the air expectantly like a cat that wanted attention but was too proud to sniff at the hand it wanted petting from.

Merlin touched the little blue orb and it grew into a large transparent globe. Inside the bubble, mist formed into shapes and colors until a scene appeared in a bright nursery decorated in silver and green.

In the crib stood a bright eyed child who couldn’t have been more than two years old.

It was a girl. She was pretty, even for a baby, with her dark hair curling around her ears and her eyes—almost black—held steady on the little blue spell orb that drifted ever closer.

She grabbed at it, but it drifted farther away. The little girl sat down with a bump on a silvery-blue blanket in the crib.

“K’m heehr,” she demanded, and the little orb drifted closer again, but nowhere near within her reach. “Khm heer,” she repeated. Her voice now sounded angry and her eyes, if it was possible, grew darker.

When the orb still wouldn’t come, she began to whine and kick in frustration.

_So she knows how to throw a tantrum. There’s nothing of Old Magic in that…_

Suddenly there was a flash of gold and a wind-up merry-go-round on the chest of drawers began to spin and play its little melody.

The little girl stood again and held out her hands to the musical merry-go-round. Her eyes flashed gold again and the wind-up toy floated off of the bureau and into her waiting hands. She sat down again with another little thump and watched the dragons, hippogriffs, and unicorns spin around and around.

“Well, she doesn’t quite look like Morgana,” Merlin told Freidle who had come to perch on his shoulder and watch. “But I should probably keep an eye on her anyway.”

* * *

For the next few weeks, the warlock watched the girl carefully. Other than small outbursts of Old Magic, she was a perfectly normal girl. He even knew her family.

Okay, not her actual family, but he remembered the founder of their family line: Darius Kyddle. They had added a few letters over the years—Kyndltry—but it was hard to hide the family birthmark. Merlin noted that the nine-pointed star just inside the toddler’s wrist. It had migrated a bit since Darius—it had been on the druid’s breast, right above his heart.

The warlock started looking in on her less as the weeks wore on and he busied himself with preparations to re-enter magical society. He had not been part of wizarding society for many years—not quite as long as people thought—and he needed to make a name for himself again. Not as Merlin, there were too many complications that would arise using his real name. Not that many people would actually believe him.

No, he was setting himself up as a magical historian under the name E. Balinor. Might as well put all those years of experience and memories to use.

The first book he wrote was entitled _The Rise and Fall of Camelot_ and he explained the ban of magic in Camelot as started by Uther and continued by Arthur. Merlin explained the role magic still played in the kingdom in spite of the ban, especially where Morgana was concerned. Of all his books, it was the most controversial, even though it was written with the most truth.

Much to the anger and chagrin of the other Merlin scholars, he kept writing about Camelot and upsetting a lot of what was thought to be fact. Merlin never dared to write his autobiography, but he examined the period in a way that touched on his role in history and much of what he presented was contrary to the wealth of legend that the others spoke of. Eventually, the warlock began to delve into the way that magic itself changed in response to the changing world, and his books grew in popularity. He was, after all, trying to make a name for himself. What better way to do that than to redefine the greatest era in magic?


	2. Unanswered Questions

Strange things had been happening at Hogwarts all year and besides the petrified students in the school infirmary, a girl with dark hair and pale skin slept in one of the beds. She tossed and turned fitfully, moaning a little as she dreamed of dark caverns and dark water. The glass of water on the table beside her bed began to shake, spilling its contents on the floor. The table started shaking, too, as well as a few of the beds.

_There was a rasping sound, like sandpaper on concrete, and sharp hiss like water poured on fire. She couldn't move, even though she felt like she was running a marathon, even though she was sure her heart could leap out of her chest and keep going without her. But she couldn't move._

_It was cold and damp and she wasn't sure if that's just how it was or if that was the panic that was clawing its way into her brain. Was the chill running up her spine a chill or the spiders she could see skittering past her? She couldn't concentrate as the rasping got closer. She turned her head and found herself staring into huge amber eyes..._

Gold flashed beneath the girl's eyelids and windows shattered. A couple of the empty beds overturned, as well as her bedside table, and curtains throughout the infirmary were instantly shredded by invisible talons.

Madame Pomfrey rushed from her bed and took in the destruction of the large room. She went straight to the side of the eleven-year-old girl who was sitting up in her bed crying.

"Hush, it's alright. It was only a dream, and dreams cannot hurt you. You're fine." She cradled the child in her arms, carrying her into the office to the potions cabinet. The nurse selected a calming potion and offered it to the quivering girl. "You're safe here, I can promise you that."

She hoped that the potion would kick in before the girl pointed out that Hogwarts wasn't really safe right now and Poppy Pomfrey could hardly promise anything other than that she would do everything in her ability to save her patients.

The young girl clutched Madame Pomfrey's apron and looked up into her eyes. "There's someone in the Chamber. He's going to save her."

* * *

"I'm sorry for waking you, Minerva, but there really is something going on with that girl. During her nightmares, she caused quite a bit of damage in the infirmary. It's probably just accidental magic, but I have never known such accidents to be so destructive."

"She isn't in the best control of her magic under regular circumstances, Poppy. She's practically failing Transfiguration, but I know that she understands the theory because her essays are impeccable." McGonagall sighed. "It's as if there is some barrier between her comprehension and her application. She's a bit like Mr. Finnegan—either it doesn't work, or it is much too powerful."

"I have noticed this as well. The girl excels at any potion that does not require magic to complete," Severus Snape sighed, "but if magic is required, her potions threaten to bring the castle falling down around our ears."

"She's in your house, Severus. What do you make of her?"

"Rowena Kyndltry is a shy girl. She has a couple of friends, one of which is in Hufflepuff, and another in Ravenclaw. Her grades are slightly higher than average, except for the classes that are primarily concerned with the use of magic. She shows a keen interest in magical creatures, which is understandable considering that her older sister works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Being Division. Apparently, Belladonna Kyndltry works primarily with House Elves. Rowena seems to have a certain affinity for them herself."

Madame Pomfrey ran fingers through her greying hair that hang uncharacteristically loose. "She said something strange before going back to sleep. 'There's someone in the Chamber. He's going to save her.' But I don't know how she knew about the message on the walls, she was already asleep in the infirmary and no one came to visit her. Besides, I was of the understanding that we were keeping students away from that hallway."

"We are," Snape confirmed stoically. "But that does not deter the more foolhardy students."

"Yes, well, Potter does have a habit of getting into trouble even when he doesn't mean to. Besides," McGonagall pointed out, "it's the Weasley girl in danger this time and he is not the only one out of bed tonight. Ron Weasley is missing, as is Professor Lockhart."

Snape snorted. "You expect that buffoon to accomplish anything? Somehow I doubt a charming smile will defeat the beast of Slytherin. We all know that he has little real power."

"I am not expecting anything of Lockhart. Quite the contrary, in fact. If there is anyone that I believe will defeat the monster, I believe in Harry Potter."

The door of the infirmary creaked open and an unkempt black head of hair appeared in the gap. "Madame Pomfrey?"

"Speak of the devil..."

"Severus!"

Fawkes the phoenix flew into the room and landed on one of the beds as Harry and Ron pushed the doors open wider, supporting Ginny between them. Gilderoy Lockhart stood behind them, grinning stupidly and looking around as if he had never seen the place before.

"Hello," he said brightly. "Who are you? Do you know who I am?"

His fellow professors glanced at each other, the disheveled Lockhart, and the three Gryffindors. "What happened to him?" Snape muttered under his breath.

"I have no idea, but dare I say it's an improvement." McGonagall made a vain attempt to pat down the stray hairs that escaped her normally immaculate bun. "Potter? What happened?"

The bespectacled boy shifted, allowing Madame Pomfrey to lead Ginny to a bed, and opened his mouth when Ron started speaking a mile a minute. "We went to talk to him about the beast in the Chamber, which was a basilisk by the way, and he was packing to leave, but he said that he would save my sister, so we led him to the Chamber which is in the girls' bathroom on the second floor. Then he took my wand and tried to use a memory charm on us, but you remember that my wand was patched with spell-o-tape and the spell backfired and he lost his memory which I suppose is okay because he's a right awful git for trying to erase our memories and leaving my sister to die..."

Ron's voice trailed off as he caught the withering look from the Potions professor. "I was not aware that your name was Potter, Mr. Weasley."

"Sorry."

"Now, Mr. Potter," Snape turned on Harry. "If you can explain any more coherently, I suggest you do so now."

"When we visited Hermione earlier, we discovered that she had a crumpled up piece of paper in her hand that identified the creature as a basilisk. She'd even figured out that it moved around in the pipes. Then we found out that Ginny had been taken, so we went to talk to Professor Lockhart because he said he was going to save her. Instead we found him packing, and he admitted that he hadn't done any of the things in his books; he just erased the memories of the people who did. With Moaning Myrtle's help, we found the entrance to the Chamber and went down to save Ginny..."

Professor Snape suddenly had the appearance of a person with a serious headache, though Professor McGonagall was paying careful attention.

"When the memory charm backfired, there was a bit of a cave-in, and Ron and I were separated. I found Ginny in the Chamber and she was really cold. It turns out she was being manipulated by a diary that belonged to Voldemort, who is actually Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was trying to drain Ginny's life so he could come back, and he sent the basilisk after me. Fawkes blinded it, and I pulled this out of the Sorting Hat." He held up the sword of Godric Gryffindor. "I killed it, but I got a basilisk fang in my arm, so I used it to destroy the diary."

Behind the teachers, there was a strangled squeak, and Poppy Pomfrey pushed both of them out of the way to maneuver Harry into a bed and inspect his arms. "There's not a mark on them! But you still need rest."

"I'm fine; Fawkes healed me."

"You still need rest." Madame Pomfrey pushed Harry down onto the pillow, convinced Ron to get into the next bed and forced Lockhart to sit on a bed in the corner. "They all do. You have enough explanations for now." The nurse ushered the professors out of the infirmary before attending to each of her new patients.

No one noticed Rowena who lay in her bed, wide awake and smiling as she listened to the Gryffindors' talk. No one heard as she whispered, "The school is safe again. The monster is dead."

Not even Rowena saw the little grey owl that perched in the rafters and flew away silently when the activity had died down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try and update this story weekly as best I can. Come May, this might get a little easier.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments. They are honestly the highlight of my days.


	3. Magical Job Application

The little grey, brown, and white owl landed on his perch beside Merlin, a small orb of blue light trapped in his beak.

"Hand it over, Freidle. I need to see what's going on. And what took you so long?"

The owl ruffled his feathers grumpily and emitted a kind of whistle-hoot, dropping the orb onto Merlin's spell book before flying up to his hidden nook in the crossbeams. From there, he gave another indignant hoot before settling into his nest.

"Falling asleep is NOT a legitimate reason for being late, you bird-brain. And with everything going on over there, I needed this information as soon as possible, especially if I need to go intervene before things get out of hand."

Freidle clacked his beak and twittered.

"What do you mean it's taken care of? Never mind, I'll see for myself."

Merlin rolled the small blue orb between his hands and watched it expand and fill with mist. The scene from the infirmary the night before played out before him in the transparent globe and he saw the destruction Rowena caused. Perhaps it was a good thing that Freidle had fallen asleep in the rafters—otherwise he wouldn't have heard any of the theories Madame Pomfrey and the professors had.

"They're a bit off, but McGonagall is starting to ask the right questions. I wonder if Professor Dumbledore has any theories. Which reminds me…" Merlin took out a quill and some parchment. "Get some sleep while you can, you stupid bird; you'll be heading back to Hogwarts soon enough."

Somewhere above his head, the little owl warbled begrudgingly. Merlin waved his hand dismissively at the troublesome tenant in his ceiling.

The Old Magic in the girl was waking up with a vengeance—that much was certain—and she would need help learning how to control it. From the conversation, no one really understood what was going on with her; they would have said that it was poor scholarship on her part, but she understood the theory and still her magic wouldn't work.

The piece that the educators were missing was that Old Magic was incompatible with newer magic and its Latinate incantations. He had quickly discovered that when trying to adapt to the new wizarding world. He could use newer magic, but it required massive amounts of concentration and separating a part of his magic that would only use new incantations. Once accomplished, he didn't need to do it again, but it was like lighting a tea candle from a bonfire and using the tea candle to light all the torches in a courtyard.

Merlin began composing a letter to the headmaster:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_My name is Emery Balinor and I am a magical historian. This letter is a request to fulfill a life-long dream: to serve as a professor of Magical History at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I realize that you have an esteemed professor already filling that position, one Professor Binns. I ask only that I might be allowed to serve in that position for one year, should Professor Binns choose to take a sabbatical._

_By way of references and to show my familiarity with the subject, I offer my books. I am especially knowledgeable about the rise and fall of Camelot, and the impact it had on the magical community._

_I assure you—and Professor Binns—that I have no intention of replacing the current teacher. I merely wish to understand modern students having spent many, many years immersed in the past. Returning to the present is often a good way to gain perspective on how we have achieved what we have, and there is no better place for that than a classroom._

_If you have any questions regarding my qualifications, experience, or perhaps any personal questions, simply send them to me with my owl, Freidle, and I will reply as soon as possible._

_Well Wishes and High Hopes,_

_Emery Balinor_

Merlin opened a small drawer and took out a stick of red sealing wax and a signet ring with an elaborate "E" engraved in it. E for Emrys. It had been several centuries since he last used it, so no one yet living should recognize it. But if someone did, he was a magical historian; he could claim that he had found it on his research journeys.

Freidle, recognizing work when he saw it, tried to hide his head under his wing and disappear into the upper rafters.

"No, you don't, you daft pigeon. I told you that you would be headed to Hogwarts again soon. Now get down here."

The owl trilled in response and shifted back to blend in with the shadows.

"Are you saying that you regret the fact that saved your feathered neck after you got clipped by that car? You've had years of laziness, enjoyed many a laugh at my expense. Now you're on your deathbed after a week of work."

There was a soft _kwee_ in the affirmative and his amber eyes peered pitifully out of the darkness above the crossbeam.

"You seem to forget that I can actually tell when you're lying. And when you're dying. Now get down here and take this letter to Dumbledore before I decide to set your tail on fire."

Freidle dropped onto his perch and accepted the letter before gliding out the open window.

There were a lot of things to prepare. For one, he would need to age himself a little early. For the last few hundred years, he had a schedule for when he actually look old and when he looked young, since he didn't seem to age naturally. He was in the middle of his young period, and it took a while to get used to his old body again.

Merlin tracked down the old tome that he hadn't actually used in years. He didn't need it now—he'd had enough practice with that spell over the years—but Rowena would.

Freidle returned the next evening carrying the response from the headmaster:

_Dear Mr. Balinor,_

_I was quite surprised to receive your letter as the position of Magical History Professor has been filled for many years by Cuthbert Binns, a man so dedicated to his teaching that he has continued in it many years after his death. I also have no record of you having attended Hogwarts. My surprise was compounded by the fact that I have read your many excellent books, but I have not met you before now._

_For the first matter, Professor Binns has agreed to allow you the honor of teaching the subject of Magical History for this coming year. When I told him of your letter, he was on the verge of weeping, remarking that you have a true scholarly mind and what kind of historian would he be if he didn't encourage such scholarship._

_However, I would very much like to meet with you to, well, meet you. I would also like to know what I am getting myself into, especially given how turbulent the past couple of years have been at the school. I might bring copies of your books for you to sign. The conversation will also venture into the area of class materials, as we need to know what to instruct students to purchase for the coming year. (Might I suggest_ The Rise and Fall of Camelot _and_ The History of the Druidic Peoples of England _for your more advanced classes?)_

_I would like to tentatively set a date for June 17_ _th_ _, after the end of the term, at the Leaky Cauldron in London. Would that work for you? Until then, best wishes for your health._

_Yours Truly,_

_Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

He had been expecting this. The proposed meeting was in about a month, but what was one more month? Merlin scribbled a quick reply and sent it off with Freidle. He'd had ten years to plan his lessons while trying to figure out what to publish in his books and what to leave out. They'd been harder to write than he thought. Not to mention the trouble he'd had with preeminent Merlin scholars.

Scholars, indeed—they had merely regurgitated some of the lesser told legends, spinning them wildly out of proportion. For every fact they got correct, they got seventeen more wrong. If he ever wrote his actual memoirs, the whole thing would be condemned as a vile bit of fiction because everyone knows that Merlin was the old wizard with the beard who taught Arthur after he pulled the sword from the stone.

"Speaking of beards…" He still hadn't gotten around to transforming into an old man. Maybe he was just putting it off because he liked being able to actually move around without pain, but no one was going to believe that Emery Balinor was a mid-twenties kid who looked like he stepped out of a Muggle college. And as long as he had been using his Dragoon disguise, he still needed time to adjust to the feeling of being old in his body as well as his mind. Long white hair and beard later, all the creaky joints of an eighty year old body returned

Merlin arrived at the Leaky Cauldron on the fifteenth of June and rented a room. It was a trek from his cottage by the lake of Avalon to London, and he didn't like to disapparate if he didn't have to. Freidle flew in the open window, protesting the long trips after more than a decade of inactivity. Merlin ignored the bird as he took the books out of his trunk and began sorting them into piles. Last of all, he retrieved his old spell book, the one Gaius had given him shortly after he arrived in Camelot. It was well worn and the feel of it brought back memories of long nights studying and rushed attempts to save Arthur's life or kingdom.

 _Nostalgia gets more painful with every passing year._ Merlin put the book down reverently. He would need it again later, maybe to pass it on to another who, like him, was born with a magic she didn't understand.

* * *

On the seventeenth, Merlin stepped down into the main hall of the Leaky Cauldron to see Tom, the caretaker, pointing at him. It would have been hard not to recognize the tall man with half-moon spectacles speaking to Tom; Dumbledore had made quite a name for himself. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met and Merlin had the distinct feeling that he was being scrutinized intensely. Better to get introductions over with sooner than later. He walked over to the headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore? I'm Emery Balinor." The warlock held out his hand, which the other man smiled and shook.

"Mr. Balinor. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I had written hoping to meet you before now…"

"Sorry. After the fifth howler from Merlin scholars calling my work rubbish and describing my family in colorful and unflattering ways, I stopped reading most of my mail."

"Ah. I can see how your work could upset them. You never mentioned where you studied. It wasn't at Hogwarts, I know that."

"That's a bit of an interesting story." Merlin's joints started complaining at him for all the time he was spending standing in one place. "Shall we sit?"

"Yes. I had Tom arrange for a back room where we can talk without interruptions."

Merlin followed the professor into a small room that had little more than a table and chairs. He sank into one, grateful to be off his feet.

"As you were saying…?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Ah, yes. You see. My mother was a muggle and she had to raise me by herself. And my magic broke through early. She didn't know quite what to do until she befriended a wizard in the village. He helped her by taking me in and teaching me how to control my magic." It wasn't a complete lie; the fact that it had happened more than a thousand years ago was just a detail that he need not mention.

"I see. Why the interest in the history of Magic?"

Merlin couldn't very well say that he had lived through most of it, but he had an answer anyway. "Growing up, I didn't know who my father was. I knew that he had magic, but that was about it. Studying the history of magic was a way for me to have some idea where I came from."

Dumbledore produced a book from one sleeve and a quill from the other. "Might I get your autograph on your book? It was quite an interesting read, something I don't often find in history books these days."

 _The Rise and Fall of Camelot_ , Merlin noticed. The sales of that book had recently outstripped Gilderoy Lockhart's _Magical Me_ , but the warlock attributed that mainly to the fact that the author had been discredited.

He and Dumbledore talked for a while about history and his lesson plans. They exchanged ludicrous legends from the time of Merlin (though Merlin shared a few of his more unbelievable adventures). He had forgotten how nice it was to talk to someone besides that stupid pigeon that thought it was an owl. He was rather disappointed as the conversation drew to a close.

"I will get accommodations settled for you at Hogwarts. I hope it isn't too much trouble to come in on the train with the students. There will be another professor on the train as well—Remus Lupin. He's taking on the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"No," Merlin replied. "That's fine. It gives me a chance to see what I'm up against." He grinned and could feel that the smile made it all the way up to his eyes. _I should have done this three hundred years ago._


	4. Of Accidents and Ancestry

Rowena woke with a start, just in time to see several items crash to the floor. She rubbed her eyes, memories of raspy voices and amber eyes already fading. She glanced around at the mayhem she had accidentally caused. A small cry of alarm and dismay left her lips as she caught sight of the little carousel music box that she had kept from infancy. The unicorn had broken off its pedestal and the crystal hippogriff was chipped. She resisted the urge to fix it herself, knowing that she wasn't supposed to use magic outside school. And with her magic the way it was, she might end up making it explode.

The same rule didn't apply to accidental magic, though, as she glanced around the disaster her nightmares caused again. _It looks like a poltergeist lives here_ , she thought, picking up a few of the things that had drifted around while she slept.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the little blue bubble of light. She had learned several years ago that she should keep acting like she didn't see it and it would stay longer.

Vague memories from childhood proved that it showed up quite frequently. She had to remind herself every so often that the nightmares weren't caused by the little blue bubble, but it generally appeared soon after.

"Is there something you need?" Rowena asked, still watching it without really watching it. "I know I didn't make you, and there's no such thing as fairy godmothers. Not that I think you're a fairy."

The bubble bobbed up and down, same as it always did shortly before it disappeared. _Wouldn't make much of a difference now…_

The girl turned to face the ball of light. "I wish I knew why you keep following me around. And why do you always show up after I have a nightmare?"

The little light hovered for a moment before disappearing through her wall.

_Oh well. No more answers than usual_.

Rowena realized that she was still holding on to the carousel toy. Setting it down carefully on her nightstand, she dressed in dark blue robes with green and silver trim. Then she grabbed the music box and went downstairs.

Her mother, Portia Kyndltry, was standing in front of the hall mirror trying to arrange the strands of blue streaked hair that had drifted loose from the conservative bun. Her black hair always looked more striking with the blue streaks spiraling through her hairdos.

"Mum?"

"What is it, Rowena? I was just about to leave for work."

"I was just wondering if you could fix this for me." She held up the carousel.

"Can't you do it yourself? I know you know how to use a repair spell."

"But the restrictions…I'm not allowed to use magic outside school—not until I'm seventeen."

Portia looked down at her daughter. "Those restrictions are really so muggles don't realize we have magic. You don't have to worry about that here." She sighed. "Alright, I'll fix it. But they really don't go after anyone using little spells like this…"

Portia tapped the music box with her wand and the unicorn stood back on its place and the hippogriff was whole.

"Thank you."

"Rowena, it's okay to break a couple of rules; you're not going to go to Azkaban for a repair charm or a hair spell. Speaking of which…" Portia tapped the girl's head with her wand and muttered a spell under her breath. Rowena's hair twisted and gathered together into a crown of small black roses. "Belladonna wouldn't have hesitated to use magic at your age."

"Well things were different then, and I'm not Bella."

"Of course not. Now I really have to go. Ask Willow if you need anything else. And don't forget—Belladonna is going to come by later and take you to get your school things."

Rowena watched as her mother disapparated with a crack. "Bye, mum," she whispered to the empty hall.

She took the newly repaired carousel toy upstairs to her room where she found Willow the house elf tidying the mess in her room. Rowena closed the merry-go-round of magical beasts in a drawer before turning to Willow.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on. And it's not fair that you have to keep cleaning up my disasters."

Willow took the girl's hand in her thin leathery fingers. "It's not your fault," she squeaked. "Your magic is different from Missy Belladonna's." The little house elf looked around before leaning in closer again. "Your magic is like a house elf's or like a dragon's. It's special."

"I wish it wasn't special. If I was normal, spells would actually work for me."

* * *

Belladonna Kyndltry arrived in the ancestral house with a flourish, appearing in the library not two meters from where Rowena was reading.

"How did I know you'd be here?"

"Because I'm always in here," Rowena mumbled, slipping the green leather bookmark into the book she had been pouring over for more than an hour.

" _Magical Beasts and the Magic They Use_? What are you reading that for? You're not allowed to take Care of Magical Creatures until next year. And the book for that course is _The Monster Book of Monsters_. You can borrow mine for that; it doesn't bite as much anymore."

"It's just—just something Willow said. Something about my magic being kind of like hers. Or like a dragon's."

"That might explain some things. Have you asked Mum?"

Rowena turned away, wishing her hair was down so she could hide behind her curls.

"You still haven't told Mum and Dad about your magic yet, have you? Maybe they can help."

"And maybe they'll think I'm a squib, or a freak, or a disgrace. Mum already gives me these looks as if I'm too delicate to do anything for myself. As soon as I tell her that my magic doesn't work right, I'll be spending half the year at St. Mungo's."

"And ignoring the problem will make it go away?"

"Yes! No; I don't know! I keep hoping that the teachers will figure out what's wrong with me and fix it. I'm just lucky they haven't sent Daddy an owl yet."

"Maybe we can look around for something at Diagon Alley that might help. It's just you and me today. Do you have your list? And your key?"

Rowena pulled the chain out from under her robes and waved the little gold key in front of her face. From a pocket, she produced the Hogwarts supply letter and Belladonna took it from her.

"Ooh, that's a new one," the older girl remarked as she looked over the list. "Professor Binns hasn't changed the textbooks in thirty years. At least that's what Mum says. Maybe there's a new professor, though I can't see Binns giving up the job."

"Can we get going before the shops are closed?"

Belladonna pocketed the list and took Rowena's hand. "Brace yourself."

Rowena had been through a lot of side-along apparations, but it always left her sick to her stomach when they arrived. When her feet landed on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, she wobbled a bit and grabbed her sister's arm to steady her.

"First stop, the family vault in Gringotts," the older Kyndltry girl remarked with a bit too much cheeriness for Rowena's taste.

They made quite the pair. Belladonna, the social butterfly, was waving at all the people she knew even slightly, while Rowena was trying desperately to disappear into her sister's side.

"Ah, the young Kyndltry girls, welcome." A friendly goblin stepped up beside Rowena and led the girls to a desk. "How can I help you today?"

"Hi, Bogrok. We need to visit the family vault for a bit."

"Certainly. Do you have your keys?"

Rowena took half a step away from her sister and took the chain from around her neck. "Here. I want to visit my part of the vault."

"Same here." Belladonna detached her own key from a charm bracelet on her wrist. At her younger sister's questioning look, she whispered, "Don't worry; the bracelet is enchanted with an anti-theft charm. If someone tries to take it without my permission, it will burn them, and leave an identifying mark that lasts at least a week."

"Everything appears to be in order," Bogrok said, climbing down from his desk. "I'll take you down there myself."

The Kyndltry vault was one of the first ones built, and it remained one of the most heavily guarded places in the bank. She smiled and waved at the dragon, though it ducked away from the clankers that Bogruk held. _Or like a dragon's…_ Suddenly she didn't feel very good about the dragon being chained down there to protect the vaults.

The inside of the vault was unique as most of the older vaults went. There was the main part, which housed the communal wealth and heirlooms of the Kyndltry family, but then there were small rooms off the main vault for various members of the family. Rowena's had been magically embossed with a silver letter "R", and Belladonna's beside it had a "B". The goblin opened the younger girl's first and she took a couple handfuls of galleons, sickles, and knuts, depositing them into her purse. Then she stood to the side as the goblin attended to her sister.

They had accumulated so much in the vault, it was surprising that they held onto it all. Rowena walked deeper than she had ever gone before, feeling the pull of something she couldn't describe leading her through the towers of treasure. She found the back of the vault, something that she hadn't been sure actually existed. The thing that was calling to her stood on a small pedestal away from everything else.

_It must be the first thing that was put in the vault,_ she mused, gazing at the carved wood of the staff. Beside it, there was a book so old that she was afraid it would deteriorate if she touched it.

_Rowena…Take the staff…Take the grimoire…Take up the Kyddle line…_

The young Slytherin glanced around. "Okay, strange voices in my head telling me to take a couple artifacts from the family vault, no one around… If this isn't a recipe for disaster and dark magic, I don't know what is. Besides, the family hasn't gone by Kyddle for years."

She was about to turn away when a ghost appeared.

"Wait." He yelled, his voice horribly distorted. "I can't be on this side of the veil long."

Rowena stopped, staring at the grey apparition. It wasn't that she hadn't seen ghosts before—the wizarding world was full of them. But she hadn't seen anyone directly connected to her or to her family. She backed up and ran into the staff. Luckily, she managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

"Rowena, I know this is strange. My name is Darius, and I need you to take the staff and the book. Learn to use your magic well." His voice was fading out and getting harder to hear. "—cher—at—lin—oon—"

The Kyndltry girl was still holding the staff after the ghost disappeared and, for the first time in a while, it felt right.

"Rowena? Where did you wander off to?" Belladonna's voice echoed through the vault, and Rowena guiltily shoved the ancient spell book into her bag.

But the staff was harder to hide. She was just about to put it back when it started twisting around her wrist. It shrank until she could hide it in the sleeves of her robes, but by then, it didn't look like a staff. It had turned into a bracelet of polished wood with a large amber stone, which had been the crown of the staff, as the focal point.

"Rowena!" Belladonna grabbed her arm. "Where were you?"

"I was just looking around."

"We need to go; we don't have time to sight-see in the vault."

Belladonna practically dragged her out of the vault and past the dragon, who actually raised its head to look at her, a kind of recognition gleaming in its eyes. But Rowena didn't have time to process it and was on street level before she could say anything.

"So, where to first? Madame Malkin's? Broomstix?"

"Flourish and Blotts?"

"No. If we go to a bookstore first, I won't be able to find you until dinnertime. How about you go Madame Malkin's while I get your textbooks, and we'll meet up at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor?"

"Okay, but I still want to go to Obscurus Books, and you said we could look around."

It seemed her sister didn't trust her to get to the magical tailor shop on her own. The older girl escorted her right to the door.

* * *

Half an hour later, Rowena left with the package containing her new uniforms clutched to her chest and found her sister waiting at the ice cream parlor. After a small snack, promising Mr. Fortescue that they wouldn't spoil their appetite for dinner, Belladonna submitted to a visit to Obscurus Books.

The air just inside the shop was thick with the smell of old books and the knowledge they contained. Rowena was sure Belladonna could see the change in her, the excitement that crackled in her veins.

"We're not staying here any longer than an hour. I will use a Body-Bind hex if I have to."

Rowena barely nodded before disappearing into the tall shelves. She always got this electric thrill when she was around old books. There were times that she was sure the Sorting Hat would have placed her in Ravenclaw if she hadn't been so insistent about being in Slytherin like the rest of her family. Not that there was anything wrong with Ravenclaw; some of her best friends were Ravenclaws…

She swung around the end of a bookshelf and ran right into someone, knocking both of them on the floor.

"I'm sorry!" She sprang to her feet and held out her hand to the old man. He had long white hair and wore light blue robes. On his shoulder, there hung a small leather satchel. "Are you okay? Let me help you up."

"I'm fine, thank you for asking." The man turned to her. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

The man had stopped moving and was just staring at her—studying her, almost—a look of shock and surprise frozen on his face. Then the man seemed to realize that he was staring and looked down. He took her hand and she helped the surprisingly light old man to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Rowena apologized again. "I just really like old books, and sometimes I get over-excited. You're not hurt, are you?"

"Just my pride," the man smiled. "Go ahead, I wouldn't want to keep you from the books. They are, I'm sure, far more interesting than I am."

Rowena blushed and walked down the aisle, being more careful about noticing other customers.

_He seemed nice,_ she thought, _if a little odd. I wouldn't mind seeing him again…_

She turned back to talk to the man, but he was gone, probably going about his own shopping.

"Rowena? Only forty-five more minutes and we are definitely leaving. Don't get caught up in a book in some dark corner where I can't find you."

Maybe she'd see him again before she left. Her fingers brushed the spines of ancient tomes and she breathed in the knowledge of a thousand years, trying to distill it into the little time she had left.


	5. An Incident on the Hogwarts Express

Merlin had enjoyed being back in the swing of wizarding society. He had packed everything he needed for Hogwarts before his meeting with Dumbledore, intending to spend the time getting reacquainted with recent history and culture so he wouldn't seem quite as out of place. Harry Potter had spent some time staying at the Leaky Cauldron, so the warlock had a chance to meet the wizarding world's current celebrity and savior. A small chance that was really just a greeting and an introduction.

Merlin had even met Rowena in a brief encounter in a book shop. He hadn't realized how alive she was until they literally ran into each other. Having been so close, he could feel that she was practically glowing with power compared to the witches and wizards around her.

Now he was standing on Platform 9 ¾ with a flood of other students who were meeting up with friends they hadn't seen all summer. There were wanted poster all over the place warning about an escaped prisoner—Sirius Black—but even that did nothing to dampen the spirits of the children that surrounded him. He used a bit of new magic to levitate his trunk and found an empty compartment on the half-loaded train.

He remembered that Dumbledore said that another professor would be riding the train with the students and he wondered for a moment if he should have found Remus Lupin and sat with him. He was about to get up and find him when a young girl with hair almost as white as his appeared in the compartment doorway.

"May I sit with you, professor? A lot of the other compartments are already full, or people just say they are." Her voice had such a musical quality that it was a moment before he realized that she was asking him something.

"Oh, certainly. How did you know I was a professor?"

"You seem a bit old to be attending Hogwarts as a student, and I doubt any parents or grandparents would accompany their child to school given that Hogwarts is known to be one of the safest places in the world to be. Besides," she said after a moment, "you're different."

 _So are you._ Merlin could sense something in the girl. Not Old Magic, exactly, but something natural, something tightly bound to the Earth and the forces within it. "I'm Professor Balinor. I'll be teaching the History of Magic this year."

"I hope nothing has happened to Professor Binns. He's funny, but I like him." The girl took a magazine, The Quibbler, out of a satchel at her side. "I'm Luna Lovegood, by the way."

"Don't worry. I asked if I could teach the course this year, and Professor Binns graciously stepped aside for the year."

Another face appeared at the door of the compartment—dark eyes and dark hair pulled back into two small braids while the rest hung loose. "Hi, Luna. Can I sit in here with you—oh!"

Rowena Kyndltry had not noticed that Merlin was sitting there until that moment.

"It's fine with me. Professor, this is my friend Rowena. She can sit with us, right?" Luna broke the silence that had descended on the compartment.

"Certainly." Evidently she remembered the encounter in the book shop. "Have we met before?"

"I believe I accidently knocked into you in one of the shop in Diagon Alley."

"Ah, yes. The young lady who loved old books. Now, I think introductions are in order. I'm Professor Balinor."

"Oh, um, hi. I'm Rowena Kyndltry." Her brow wrinkled slightly. "Wait. Balinor? As in E. Balinor, the one who wrote a couple of our textbooks?"

"That's me, though I doubt many others will make the connection. Not everyone pays attention to an author's byline. Kyndltry, you said? That's an old line. Traces back to Darius Kyddle, who lived during Golden Age of Camelot."

"Oh." The girl looked suddenly uncomfortable. She took a book out of the bag hanging at her side and started reading.

It occurred to Merlin that there was one disadvantage to being his older self—someone Rowena's age might not be too keen to talk to him. He was old, and though he would go to Gaius or to Kilgharrah for advice when he was closer to her age, he wouldn't go to them with everything.

The train lurched under them as it pulled away from the platform and it seemed like a mad rush of students was pushing past their compartment to find one of their own.

A few hours later, it seemed like the world had gotten very cold. The train, for no reason Merlin could see, had stopped in the middle of nowhere. A thin layer of frost crept across the window and the warlock drew back in horror.

Dorocha.

Wizards called them dementors now, but they were still dorocha, the spirits of the dead. They seemed to have a little more sense now that Old Magic was diminished in the world, and with it their power. Now they were merely drawn to unhappiness and guilt—and to the guilty.

Merlin suddenly realized why there were dementors loose, but why would they be looking for an escaped prisoner on a train full of children?

_Oh, of course. The focal point of the whole wizarding world is on this train. Harry Potter is somewhere on this train and Sirius Black might be after him..._

Four figures shrouded in misty blackness appeared in corridor outside Merlin's compartment. They didn't look the dorocha he remembered-it was as if they had stolen a form to become more solid. One of the dementors opened the door with a grey hand, and all four seemed to ooze into the compartment.

Merlin was vaguely aware of Rowena's choked sobs and Luna's rapid breathing, but he stared, frozen at the sight of the foul creatures before him. There was a chill deep within him that he had not felt in over a millennia, a helplessness not unlike the day that Arthur died. Merlin fought to stay conscious as the beings surrounded him. What struck him as the greatest difference between the dorocha and the dementors was the silence. The voices of the dead refused to be silent when they were released on the world by Morgana. Now, these soul-stealing wraiths were as silent as the graves they had abandoned.

Merlin was about to attempt to use magic, even though he wasn't sure if Old magic would work on these warped dorocha, when—as one—they lifted their head as if to some silent call and glided from the compartment.

The warlock could feel the cold sweat trickling down his neck, now that he could feel again, and whispered a spell that would warm the space up again.

The train lurched forward again and activity started to buzz beyond the door that separated the three of them from the rest of the world.

"Well," Merlin sighed, breaking the silence. "That was unpleasant, to say the least."

Rowena nodded, looking slightly ill, and Luna allowed herself a small smile. "At least it's over now."

"I believe chocolate is a remedy for a bad encounter with dementors. I'll go track down the lady with the candy trolley and bring some back." Rowena reached for her bag, possibly to get some money, but the warlock stopped her. "My treat, I insist."

* * *

Rowena turned to Luna after Professor Balinor had left. "Why were there dementors on the train? I mean, I know that Sirius Black escaped and all, but why did four of them decide to come in here?"

Before Luna could say anything, some student was running down the corridor outside yelling that the dementors made somebody faint. Rowena shivered and the staff/bracelet on her wrist burned with cold fire. When the dementors had entered the compartment, it and the grimoire in her bag felt extremely stolen. And Professor Balinor had mentioned Darius Kyddle, that ghost she'd seen in the family vault.

"Maybe," Luna said slowly, "the dementors were just curious. Professor Balinor seemed to be the one holding their interest. Maybe he saw a lot of things he wished he hadn't." Rowena stared into her friend's clear eyes. "He's really old. Even his eyes, no matter how young they sometimes look."

"That doesn't make a lot of sense."

"I know."

Rowena knew that she could trust Luna with anything, and she desperately wanted to show the Ravenclaw the grimoire. She had even reached in her bag to take it out when Professor Balinor returned with his arms full of chocolate frogs.

"Sorry, this was the only kind of chocolate they had. We're lucky I got there first; these were selling fast."

Professor Balinor divided them equally at first, but Rowena caught him adding two from his own pile to each of theirs when he thought they weren't looking. A light touch on her arm confirmed that Luna had seen it too. Instead of saying anything, Rowena closed the door of the compartment so the frogs wouldn't escape once they were free of their boxes.

Luna opened one first, giggling as the enchanted chocolate got caught in her curled and tangled hair. Rowena's frog hopped onto the window of the compartment door and climbed up the glass on its tiny feet. She caught it as the enchantment wore off and it slipped off the window, an amphibious smirk frozen on its sugary features.

Professor Balinor managed to catch his chocolate frog in midair and it crawled over onto the back of his hand, staring up at him with dark eyes.

The first bite of chocolate was wonderful. Even though the dementors had not been there for her, their presence alone had been terrifying. The guilt of stealing from the vault—no matter how much she tried to tell herself it wasn't stealing—had been eating away at her all summer, making her edgier than normal. Even her mother had noticed. For some reason, the chocolate was taking the bite out of her panic and bringing her frazzled mind back under control. She could see that the chocolate was also having a positive effect on her fellow passengers. She hadn't realized that the old man had gotten paler until the color returned to his cheeks with each bite of the enchanted frog.

"Ooh, look! I've got Wendelin the Weird!" Luna held the card up, beaming. The picture was one Rowena had seen before, but Professor Balinor blinked in surprise at the portrait of the cackling witch sitting atop a bonfire. "What cards do you have, professor?"

The magical historian searched through the pile of chocolate frog boxes, plucking out the commemorative cards. "Let's see…Merlin, Merlin, Merlin…another Merlin…Merlin, and…Merlin."

"I think I have one, too." Rowena shuffled through her cards. One Merlin, two Dumbledore, four Circe, a Morgan Le Fay, and an Ethelred the Ever-Ready.

Luna laid out her cards. She too had a Merlin card, as well as three Dumbledore, a Baba Yaga, a Musidora Barkwith, a Cliodna, and an Alberta Toothill. She took this last one and held it out to the old man. "You have this one. I'm not really fond of Mrs. Toothill."

"What?" Rowena couldn't believe what she had just heard. "Agatha Toothill is a legend. She was able to defeat the dueling champion, and she came out of nowhere!"

"Exactly," the strange Ravenclaw girl said. "All she's famous for is winning a fight, and not even with any skill. She used a blasting charm that we learn in our first year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. It was just luck."

Professor Balinor took the card and offered one of his many Merlins. "I wonder why she was in a dueling championship in the first place. She looks perfectly ordinary to me."

Before they could talk about it, the train pulled up to the platform and students started shoving their way out into open air. Rowena and Luna decided to wait with the professor until the threat of being trampled by other students was significantly lessened.

"What are those?" Luna asked once they were outside.

Rowena followed the path of her pointing finger. "They're the horseless carriages."

"They're not horseless, though. Look."

"Those are thestrals. Only people who have seen and accepted death can actually see them." Rowena looked up at the professor. He seemed to know everything she or Luna wanted to know about the world. She made a mental note of that before looking back to empty space Luna had pointed to.

Except it wasn't so empty this time. She couldn't really see anything other than a slight rippling in the air, but she could sense that, yes, something was there. "Come on, Luna! You don't want to miss the feast, do you?"

Rowena turned to extend an invitation to Professor Balinor to ride in with them, but he had stopped to talk to a tall, thin man who also had a flying trunk following him. Another professor. They would probably want to ride in together and, from the look of the three Gryffindors following this other professor, the carriage would already be full.

 _Oh well. At least I can see him in class and ask him what he knows about Darius Kyddle._ She waved to Professor Balinor as the carriage pulled away and caught the smile he sent back. Yes, no matter how boring history was, she was going to like that professor.


	6. An Ominous Prophecy

Merlin met Remus Lupin as he got off the train. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was flanked by three students the warlock had already had the pleasure of meeting back at the Leaky Cauldron: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley.

"You must be the other professor that was to ride in on the train. Remus Lupin, right?"

"That's right. You must be Emery Balinor. Dumbledore mentioned that you'd be taking on History of Magic for a year. I must say I'm surprised you got Binns to step aside."

There was something familiar about the man, even though he was sure they had never met—something about the way he felt, something almost animalistic. "Yes, well, it took a bit of convincing. I have no doubt he'll be hovering over my shoulder, wondering what I'm teaching his students."

"I think that's the last carriage," Hermione pointed, drawing attention to the empty platform and the carriage that seemed to be waiting for them.

All five of them climbed in, Remus offering an arm to Merlin, who accepted gratefully. Several hours on the train and the bitter chill that followed the dementors had caused his joints to ache. There was a reason he hated being old.

Merlin almost wished he had decided to take the boats with the first years. He had seen the castle before, but students never forgot the view of the castle from the lake, a view he had never glimpsed before.

But the carriages were by far a more efficient transportation. Merlin could see that the boats were only a third of the way across the lake by the time the last carriage made it to the castle.

The entrance hall of the castle drew strong memories of Camelot to his mind. For a moment, Arthur was at his side, scolding Merlin for all of his clumsy antics while out on the hunt, wrapping an arm around him after a particularly difficult mission.

"Professor Balinor?" An older, female voice broke through his recollections. "Oh, hello, Remus. Welcome back to Hogwarts."

"It's good to be back, Professor McGonagall. Here to escort us to the Great Hall?"

"Yes." The aging witch turned to Merlin. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Balinor. Albus tells me that you did not study at Hogwarts?" She extended a thin hand and he took it in a handshake of greeting.

"No. My mother had never even heard of Hogwarts until I was already studying with a wizard in my village. But I'm finally here. Better late than never."

McGonagall smiled. "Yes, well, if you wish to have a tour of the grounds after the feast, I am sure there will be no shortage of teachers willing to take you." She lifted her skirts slightly so that the fabric wouldn't hamper her movements. "If you'll come this way, I have just enough time to show the both of you to your seats at the high table before I must collect the first years."

A small door under the main stairs led into a narrow passageway. Portraits hung all down the hallway, whispering amongst themselves. Merlin made a mental note to speak with as many as he could. He had known some of these wizards in life and some of that knowledge could have carried into the painting. It wouldn't do to have his other identities circulating through the school. If it caused nothing else, the portraits would be fighting over who exactly he was: Myrddin the healer, Gaius of Monmouth, Simeon Briars…. It was an exhausting case of mistaken identity waiting to happen, and all the fuss would make Dumbledore pay more attention to the home-schooled wizard who came from thin air.

At the end of the hallway, the Hogwarts crest was carved into the wall behind a suit of armor. The door to the right led into the Great Hall, and McGonagall led the new professors into the brightly lit room. Before leaving the hallway, Merlin bowed to the suit of armor, then grinned when it saluted in return.

The four heads of houses had their chairs in line with the house tables, Professor Snape being the first one they encountered on the end. Merlin caught the grimace the appeared on the potions professor's face at the same time as the stiffness in Professor Lupin's limbs.

_There's a history there. And not a very good one, I'd wager._

Students were milling about the hall, making their lazy way to the house tables as McGonagall put Professor Lupin beside her place and led Merlin down to the end of the table.

"Pomona? This is Professor Balinor."

The plump head of Hufflepuff house smiled warmly at the warlock, sparing Minerva the need to introduce her. "I'm Professor Sprout. I teach Herbology."

Merlin took the seat and watched the clusters of students melt into the tables. "I'm sure you've heard that I will be teaching History of Magic."

"Oh yes. Cuthbert was gushing about you from the moment he heard of your request. I know that he has a certain period of history that he is more fond of than others—Goblin wars. Do you have a favorite period to study?"

"Camelot during the reign of King Arthur. For such a formative period in history, there isn't a lot of true scholarship on it. Just a lot of half-understood legends and ludicrous fictions."

"Well, I'm sure many of your students will be interested in your findings. Hermione Granger in Gryffindor desires knowledge the way a devil's snare vine desires damp and dark places. The whole of the Ravenclaw house will also be especially studious." She puffed up proudly. "Hufflepuff will have a wide spectrum of them, probably enough to keep you sufficiently occupied."

"What about Slytherin? What kinds of students are in that house?"

Professor Sprout's smile faded ever so slightly. "It's often hard to tell. Many of them close themselves off from the rest of the school, or stay in their tight little groups. They do their homework, but with a kind of aloofness that could almost be boredom. But I have seen many of them find their stride in certain subjects and rise above the rest. One of the fourth year boys has a particular skill in transfiguration that might one day rival Minerva. A seventh year girl is top of the school in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and has expressed some interest in joining the Aurors after she finishes school this year."

"Sounds as though there's as wide a spectrum there as among your Hufflepuffs."

Pomona beamed. "All the houses have students who fall at various places on the spectrum within their house; it's simply more pronounced in Hufflepuff."

As if by some silent command, the Hall fell silent and the main doors opened to admit the unSorted first years. A stool with a ragged hat upon it had appeared sometime while Merlin and Professor Sprout were talking and the warlock watched as the hat did a very un-hat-like thing; it started singing.

_I am a talking hat, you see,_

_Stitched up, maintained with care,_

_To do my solemn duty_

_And sit upon your hair._

_A year of magic for you all_

_When I your forehead grace._

_Let me gaze into your heart_

_And find you all a place._

_Gryffindor is one, you see,_

_Where dwell the strong at heart,_

_And Ravenclaw, of seeking minds,_

_Beg knowledge we impart._

_Slytherin, not last of all,_

_Is where true friendships grow,_

_Where careful words and quiet skill_

_Are things you soon will know._

_Hufflepuff takes all the rest,_

_A loyal, motley crew,_

_And so approach with open arms_

_And make your quarrels few._

_These Houses stood for centuries_

_And should for decades more._

_Make friends, find love, and do your work;_

_Pay heed to Dumbledore._

_A year of quiet scholarship,_

_A calm before a storm,_

_We welcome you with open beds_

_And hearths that we keep warm._

Merlin didn't like the sound of that last bit—a calm before a storm. He knew that certain events were escalating, especially with Harry Potter in the school. That boy was a catalyst for all things evil, though he definitely wasn't evil himself. In some ways, he was like another walking trouble magnet Merlin knew, who always seemed to find himself in a bind that required magic to sort out. The warlock also knew that the major battles were still a few years away, after the wizarding world's Golden Boy had grown up a little more.

But how did the hat know? It was an enchanted object with the ability to see into the wearer's head— _Mental Note: Never put it on_ —but he didn't think that came with the ability to see into the future. The Crystal of Neahtid, his scrying tool, was safely tucked away in his luggage masquerading as a common paperweight.

The headmaster stood to address the hall as the final child was Sorted and the Hat and stool were moved to the side. He reminded the students about certain rules, though Merlin doubted how much good the reminder would do as a set of red-headed twins smirked at each other.

"And another thing: as many of you have heard, there has been an escape from Azkaban prison and the Ministry has reason to believe that he may be headed towards Hogwarts. Rest assured that the security of the school is excellent. However, dementors have been added to the borders of the school to act as an extra line of defense against any threat. They are to remain there and not wander onto the grounds themselves…"

Merlin stopped listening as he remembered the chill of those creatures. In his head, he had started referring to them as the unhappy younger cousins of the Dorocha. Unfortunately, it didn't make them any less menacing. He glanced at the Slytherin table, trying to catch a glimpse of Rowena, but all he saw was a rather unpleasant blond boy that seemed to be smirking at the Gryffindor table.

"Without further prelude, you may all eat." With a snap of Dumbledore's fingers, food appeared on all the tables and the students tucked in as if they hadn't seen a meal all week. But technically, they had all missed lunch, something copious amounts of chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes was not about to change.

Pomona passed Merlin the gravy boat as he piled thick slices of turkey on his plate. He snatched a platter of dinner rolls and offer it to the Herbology professor before causing three to tumble onto his plate and sending the rest further down the table. He accepted a bowl of mashed potatoes from Professor Trelawney who was sitting on his right. She gazed at him with something in her eyes that was almost recognition, but turned back to her food before she could have realized anything major about him. Certainly not that he was a centuries-old warlock who had infiltrated a school with the intention of teaching a magically impaired student how to use Old Magic.

There came a time when everyone decided that they had eaten enough and the older students were standing to lead the first years to their respective common rooms. The teachers stood as well, some making their exit out the side doors to chambers contained somewhere within the castle. There was little doubt in Merlin's mind where Dumbledore was going, as he took the Sorting Hat with him on the way out. It was common knowledge that the magical item was kept in the headmaster's office.

Professor McGonagall made her way over to the warlock. "I can show you to your chambers. There should be plenty of time to explore the castle before your classes start on Tuesday. You'll find a copy of your class schedule in your chambers. Since you're a new teacher, you have tomorrow to get acquainted to the school. Normally, you will have classes on Monday, but I think your students can afford to miss one day while you learn your way around the castle."

The deputy headmistress led Merlin up several flights of stairs to one of the towers. His room wasn't quite at the top, but it was close. The window had an excellent view of the grounds and the lake—at least, it would if it weren't dark out there. He could only see the moonlight reflecting off the lake.

"I'm sure I will see you in the morning. Good evening, Professor Balinor."

"Yes. Good evening to you, too, Professor McGonagall."

Merlin's bags were already in his chambers, brought by magic or some unseen servant, he wasn't sure. Freidle twittered in the rafters above his head.

"Good to know you learned some tricks from me, you daft pigeon! But that was clever, getting out of the cage on your own. I suppose you've earned a couple days rest."

But everything else had just started for Merlin. He was going to busier than he had been since working for Arthur in Camelot.

And despite the fact that he looked like an old man and his joints sometimes ached, he still felt quite young as, it seemed, the others professors did. Perhaps they knew something he didn't since they were all retiring early, but he had lived on very few hours of sleep in the service of Prince and later King Arthur, so he knew a few tricks of his own.

He would sleep for a few hours so he could wake early to take in the grounds.


	7. A Shaky Start

Rowena couldn't sleep that night, not even knowing that she had transfiguration with Luna in the morning. Every time she drifted off, there were voices in her head, and she woke up clutching the grimoire.

She finally gave up and started reading by the light of the lake through the transparent ceiling. Or trying to read. While she could recognize most of the letters and even one or two of the words, she couldn't actually read the text. And taking a class on dead languages wasn't an option until her fifth year at the very least.

Instead, she tried to take off the bracelet, which unfolded into a short staff as she did. Well, short to an adult, anyway. It was almost as tall as she was. And it fit so comfortably in her hand—it was as if she had found some small piece of herself that had been hidden away in the vault.

_Maybe I can show the book to Professor Balinor. He can probably tell me what it is and I don't have to tell him where I got it._

She still hadn't had the chance to show it to Luna, and she wanted to do that first, maybe ask her advice. For all the jokes that people make about "Loony" Lovegood, the girl was amazingly insightful when it came to the best course of action to take.

But all of that could wait until morning, she decided. A humming in her head started lulling her to sleep and she wasn't sure if it had just appeared or if she had only just realized it was there.

_Rowena was standing a cave. There were blue crystals embedded in the walls as if they had grown there and they shone with an inner light like a thousand stars. Instinctively, she knew she shouldn't touch any of them, but oh she wanted to._

_"Rowena."_

_She turned to look at the figure that appeared behind her._

" _This is a much more effective way to communicate," Darius Kyddle said as he brushed imaginary ashes off of his robes. "Have you found your teacher yet?"_

" _You mean Professor Balinor?"_

_For a moment, Rowena's ancestor looked confused, then a spark of recognition ignited. "Ah, so that is the name he is going by now. He was called Emrys when I knew him. But he never liked that name."_

_There was something behind that, something that Rowena couldn't quite understand. "You knew Professor Balinor?"_

" _He was young then. He'll make an excellent teacher for you."_

" _But how is that possible? He can't be that old…"_

" _Just trust him. He will make everything clear when it is necessary."_

Rowena jolted herself awake as she tried to reach out and grab onto her ancestor's robes. She couldn't tell given the strange way that light filtered through the water of the murky lake, but it seemed like it was still early morning. And despite only getting a few hours of sleep, she was wide awake.

Rowena took her time getting dressed. She untangled the staff from her bedsheets where she had been cradling it in her sleep and watched in fascination as it twined back around her wrist into a bracelet.

"Luna's probably up by now," the young Slytherin reminded herself.

Luna had confided in Rowena that she was an early riser, because of habit and because people were still asleep so the nargles were quiet while she could work on her homework. At first, Rowena wasn't sure that nargles were real, but Luna had lent her a pair of enchanted glasses once, and the Slytherin girl couldn't un-see the glowing white dust motes that clouded around certain people's heads.

Rowena started up through the passage ways towards the kitchens. Luna liked spending time around the house elves, and she did too. They were all polite without being patronizing and always had a small treat stashed somewhere when students were having bad days. More than once after spending time with them, Rowena had sat down to dinner with her favorite foods appearing on the table in front of her.

She tickled the small green pear on the portrait to the kitchens and opened the door.

"Good morning, Miss Kyndltry," squeaked one of the nearest elves. "You're up early."

"Good morning, Evaline." The little house elf had befriended Rowena the year before, often comforting the Slytherin girl when she was frustrated by her magical impairment. "I just wanted to get an early start on the day, and I thought Luna might have come here."

"Not yet, but she should be here soon. Are you hungry? I can get some chocolate chip muffins or strawberries or a bagel with cream cheese."

"Could I have a few strawberries? I don't want to spoil my appetite for breakfast."

"Certainly!" she replied enthusiastically. "I'll go get them right now!"

Rowena smiled after the small elf. Evaline barely came up to her hip, but she was always full of a bouncy kind of joy. Starting the day around Evaline guaranteed that it would be better. She couldn't help but infect the people around her with her energy.

"I thought you would be here," came Luna's lilting voice from behind Rowena.

"You always seem to know where I'll be. Especially when I have a lot on my mind."

Luna's eyes focused on the Slytherin girl. "You wanted to tell me on the train, didn't you? But not in front of Professor Balinor."

Rowena was always surprised by the Ravenclaw's uncanny understanding of everything about her. "How did you know?"

"You wanted to show me something on train, but Professor Balinor came back, so you didn't pull it out."

 _Of course she noticed it. I guess it only takes a summer to forget how observant she really is._ Rowena pulled the book out of her school bag. As she held it, she could swear that there was something humming in the back of her mind. The humming stopped when she set it on the table between them, only to be replaced with low, incomprehensible whispers.

She could have sworn they were words, but the whispers weren't any kind of words she'd ever heard.

"Oh, Miss Lovegood!" Evaline squealed in excitement. "It's a good thing I brought extra strawberries!" The little elf's eyes fell on the book and she went still, considering it. Then, in a voice more serious than either of the girls had ever heard from her before, she looked up at Rowena and said, "You have your magic book now. Things will be much better this year for you."

"What?"

"Evie! You're needed at the ovens," another house elf called.

"Gotta go," Evaline excused herself. "First breakfast rush. We want it to be perfect for all the first years."

"But what did you mean?" Rowena asked helplessly of the elf's retreating back.

Luna patted her friend's shoulder and passed her a strawberry. "I am sure that Miss Evaline meant exactly what she said. This is the book that will help you learn how to use your magic."

"There's a bit of a problem with that." Rowena flipped open the book on the table with a thud that startled the closest elves. They looked over briefly, saw the book on the table between the two girls, and turned back to their work as if they understood.

 _Even the house elves know more about this book than I do,_ Rowen thought bitterly, staring down at the words that felt like they should make sense and didn't.

Luna leaned over to look at the grimoire. "You can't read it."

"Yes, but I feel like I should be able to read it, and it's frustrating that I can't." The Slytherin girl grabbed a strawberry from the bowl Evaline had brought and twisted off the stem. "I just—I don't know what to do right now. I mean, we can't take any classes on dead languages until fifth year, and that's supposing that this is a dead language or that it's a language that can be studied at all. I suppose I could try looking up translation spells, but I don't think that would help if these are supposed to be spells."

Luna closed the book and looked right into Rowena's eyes. "How about we meet in the library this evening? We can start researching ways for you to read this book. Perhaps Madam Pince can point us in the right direction."

"Madam Pince? She's terrifying!"

"No, she's not," Luna said quickly. "She just wants to make sure the books are all treated well, but she makes people too afraid to ask for help finding anything."

"You can say that again and mean it." Rowena put the book back in her bag, the whispers persisting with their dull buzz in the back of her head. "We should probably go to breakfast. Professor Snape usually pays attention to which Slytherins make it to breakfast on the first day, and I don't want him to think I'm slacking off."

"I don't think he would hold it against you. He should know it's not in your character," Luna pointed out. But she stood up anyway, plucking a few more strawberries from the bowl. "Anyway, Megan is probably in the Great Hall about now."

"That right!" Rowena banged her knees into the table as she stood up suddenly. "I didn't get a chance to see her last night."

Megan Jones was like sunshine. She was a half-blood and had no reason to trust a pure-blood Slytherin girl, even if Rowena was a year younger than her. But when she found Rowena crying in the corner on the day when all of the shame and humiliation regarding her magic was pressing in at her, Megan skipped her Potions class just to sit and talk to her. The moment Rowena met Megan, first year became that much more bearable.

Rowena raced towards the Great Hall, dragging Luna behind her. To her credit, Luna sped up just enough that Rowena couldn't drag her and was forced to slow down to a point that they entered the Great Hall at a brisk walk rather than a dead run. From the Hufflepuff table, Megan was waving at them and leaning out into the aisle so far that her long brown curls brushed the floor.

The Slytherin girl couldn't help the grin that lit up her whole face. She sprinted down the aisle and captured the older student in a grateful hug.

"I missed you all summer!" Megan said, returning the embrace. "I wanted to write, but Grace was hogging Simon, sending notes to her boyfriend. And Mom just let her because 'they're planning their wedding'. Whenever Simon was home, he was sleeping because they were wearing him out."

"That's okay; I wasn't really doing anything interesting. Besides, I don't think I would be happy with just a letter," Rowena pointed out. "It's more fun hanging out with you."

"I saved you both seats!" Megan sat back down and gestured for them to do the same.

A couple of the first years at the table sent Rowena fearful looks. Obviously they knew about the bad reputation of the whole Slytherin house. But Rowena returned their look with a friendly smile, hoping that they would understand that she wasn't one of the ones to be afraid of.

Luna sat on Rowena's other side, and the Slytherin recognized the start of something that Megan had told her would happen for the next four years at the very least.

"Sandwich!" Megan announced loudly, as both she and Luna trapped Rowena in the middle of their tight hug.

As she pulled back, Megan tickled Rowena, causing the younger girl to giggle and thrash around.

"Stop it," she protested. "I just want breakfast!" The savory scent of cinnamon rolls assaulted as they appeared at the table in front of them. The tickle fight was forgotten as they fought to get food on their plates before it all disappeared.

The three girls shared the large bowl of strawberries that appeared beside Rowena's plate with several of the students around them.

"I didn't do anything to them; I promised," Rowena said as she offered the bowl to the wary first years. It was kind of sad that she was used to their fear. She had heard Megan's other friends—and she had at least one in every house—that Rowena was going to ruin her. When they thought she couldn't hear, they would try to tell Megan that she was just like the other Slytherins—bigoted, racist, elitist, and bitter. Many of the Gryffindors didn't care if she could hear or not, and that revealing "what she was" in front of Megan should make her confess or something.

To her credit, Megan never listened to them. She knew better than anyone that Rowena was not welcome among Slytherins because of her family's ambiguous stand on blood purity, the fact that they remained neutral in Wizarding War, and because Rowena was considered by all her classmates to be little better than a squib.

Suddenly, Rowena could feel all of their eyes on her. In the back of her mind, the words were coming back. _Ic i gedrysne…ic i gedrysne…_

"I need to get to class," Rowena said, trying to shake the foreign words out of her head.

"I'll come with you." Luna stood up and grabbed her school book. "Don't forget we have transfiguration together."

"Right." The words were still there, repeating themselves over and over again. And she knew if she didn't get away soon, she would say them. And who knows what would happen then?

Behind her, Rowena heard Luna inviting Megan to the library to study after dinner, but it was like it was happening all the way across the room. She started walking, hoping the tunnel vision she was getting would go away before she got to class.

McGonagall was sitting on her desk in her Animagus form when Luna and Rowena arrived. They were both extremely early and all the seats were open, but there was an unwritten rule that students sit with their houses. And last year they had. But Luna followed her over to the Slytherin side of the room and set up her books in their seat right beside Rowena's. Cat McGonagall glanced in their direction, but made no indication that this was a problem. They were, after all, just two outcasts sitting together in the back of the room.

The Ravenclaw students started to trickle in until all were seated on their side of the room. Finally, moments before the beginning of class, the Slytherin students entered as one and took their seats. For a moment, the cat at the front of the room stared at them, making sure that they were all there. Then she shifted into her true form.

"Welcome to Second-year Transfiguration. Today you shall be practicing turning a water goblet into an animal. You need to master this spell before learning the _Vero Verto_ charm, or you will not be able to reverse the effects of that spell." Professor McGonagall snapped her fingers and small goblets appeared on each of their desks. "The spell is _patera verto_."

Rowena looked down at her wand. Black walnut and thestral tail hair. Somehow she knew before she tried it that the spell wouldn't work. They almost never did, and they never worked the way they were supposed to.

The voice in her head came back with a vengeance, making it hard for her to breathe. _Gewyrc an lif…gewyrc an lif…_

The words were different every time but this time they held an imperative so strong that Rowena was afraid of what would happen if she didn't say the words.

"Patera verto," she whispered weakly, staring at the goblet which seemed to be mocking her with its unclouded reflection. She tried again, steadying her voice. "Patera verto."

Still nothing. If anything, it was more resolutely a goblet than it was before.

_Gewyrc an lif…_

She tried again, trying to focus beyond the foreign chant in her head. "Patera Verto."

Beside her, Luna was petting the little grey mouse that her goblet had turned into.

_What would it hurt? Gewyrc an lif… gewyrc an lif… You could actually use magic in class…_

"Patera verto." Even Rowena didn't believe that one would work. _What_ would _it hurt?_ She wondered.

In a moment of weakness, she whispered it. "Gewyrc an lif."

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then something shimmered in the air above her goblet. A little blue bird materialized and landed on the rim of her goblet, staring up at her with beady black eyes.

Rowena suddenly became aware that the room had gone silent. She could feel all of them looking at her again, then at her goblet with the bird she had conjured out of thin air hopping around the edge, then back at the Slytherin girl. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to disappear completely.

_Ic i gedrysne…ic i gedrysne…_

Rowena couldn't take the silence in the room and the insistent voice in her head. With a short apologetic glance in Luna's direction, Rowena dashed from the classroom in search of a corner to hide in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, the spells are:
> 
> Ic i gedrysne: I vanish/disappear, so basically a spell for invisibility (not used in the show)
> 
> Gewyrc an lif: Create a life, this was used in The Diamond of the Day (part one) by Merlin to confirm that he still had his magic (he created a butterfly)
> 
> Patera Verto: basically I just turned around Vera Verto, which turns an animal in to a goblet. Considering that they were using their own animals in the movies, I figured they should know how to undo the spell first.


	8. When Magic Calls, Merlin Goes

Merlin awoke as he usually did, twisting out of bed and trying to ignore the aches of an older body trying to perform younger movements. The sun was just letting the light hit the clouds over the western hills, turning the sky the color of amber and summer peach. For a long time, the sunrise was the only thing he got out of bed for. Sometimes he would go outside, stare up at the sunrise and remember that Arthur wasn’t alive to see it. The promise of “Once and Future” didn’t mean much in the interim except depression and failure. Try as he might, that overgrown lizard with all the riddle couldn’t convince Merlin that he hadn’t failed his king, Gwen, and all of Camelot.

But now he had a reason to get up in the morning. He had students and a duty to teach them as well as he could. He had a lesson plan. And there was also Rowena. She needed someone who knew how she could best utilize her magic.

So he could curse old bones later.

Hogwarts, he knew, featured moving staircases, hidden passageways, secret chambers, and a room that was not always there. Basically Camelot with a few magical touches. Still, it would be easy to get lost in it without some form of direction, like a map.

It was strange staying in a magical castle. It seemed to recognize him, though he couldn’t remember ever being there before. Still, if it was content to whisper its secrets to him, he was content to listen.

Apparently there actually was a map of the castle, but he wasn’t likely to get his hands on it.

_Oh well. It’s not like it matters that much…_

Merlin pulled on his robe. It was a shade that he had always referred to as Pendragon Red. Someone had probably renamed it over the years, but to him, it would always be Pendragon Red.

The warlock left his chambers with Freidle sleeping in the rafters. The stupid bird was pretending like he hadn't slept in days and needed to sleep off overwork and exhaustion even though they both knew that it was all a sham.

Merlin wandered through the corridors, allowing the castle to guide him to the most interesting spots to be found. It did make sure that he knew exactly where his classroom was. It wouldn't, after all, set a good example for his students if the professor was late on the first day.

He bypassed the kitchens and the Great Hall, as he had grown accustomed to few meals. It was simply more cost effective, and fulfilled the image of the struggling author more than his actual worth: several million galleons safely tucked away in the oldest of the vaults in Gringotts.

 _It's not older than me_ , the warlock thought with a smug smile. _And the only reason the goblins even know it's there is because I often show up to remind them why they should be nice to the dragon._

Down another hallway, Merlin was drawn to a blank wall. It seemed as though the image of a door hovered between the air. The Room of Requirement. He stepped up to the wall, thinking about the true form that such a room would take.

The door appeared, but when he opened it, there was a blank expanse of greyness. The room, in the absence of a physical desire, was made of nothing.

He closed his eyes again and thought of Gaius's quarters in Camelot: the drying plants hanging in small bundles from the ceiling, the short wooden table that he had eaten so many meals at, the few steps up to his own room, the shelves of vile concoctions to cure the most obscure maladies.

He opened the door again, and it was an exact replica of the room in his memory. But there was one important piece missing. Gaius was not in that room, and even if Merlin went in and waited, Arthur would not walk through the door, asking Gaius where his fool of a servant had done with himself today.

"Is something wrong?"

The voice startled Merlin out of his thoughts. He turned to see Professor Snape standing there, looking into the room that he had just conjured.

"I was not aware such a room existed in the castle," he said with a dryness that Merlin found unappealing.

"It doesn't, not technically. It's merely the projection of a memory. And not a complete one, anyway."

"Ah. I was not aware that you were so well acquainted with obscure magic." If the man's voice was not so monotone, Merlin could be convinced that the potions professor was actually interested in the room.

"Yes, well, it comes of studying the periods affected by such obscure magic."

"Were you perhaps headed toward the Great Hall? I believe that the meal will be prepared soon."

"Not really. I intended to explore this morning. I only have today, after all, to find my way around without getting lost."

Professor Snape nodded his understanding. "Very well, perhaps at the evening meal then. But if you make your way down to the dungeons during one of my free periods, I would gladly show you around."

 _Oh_. Perhaps the man was not, as he had thought, so completely unappealing that he could not be courteous. Arthur, when Merlin had first met him, had the social skills of a turtle that was unable to turn himself over. But that was because he had grown up a prince, without someone willing to point out when he was being rude. Professor Snape, on the other hand, seemed unwilling to allow himself to be that vulnerable, as if he had been hurt in the past. It was not, after all, out of the realm of possibility...

The door was still open, and that painful twist of nostalgia was insisting on his attention. With one last long look into that space which was supposed to hold a friend, Merlin closed the door.

“Maybe someday,” he whispered, patting the door to the Room of Requirement with reverence.

He continued down the corridor. Merlin turned the corner and ran straight into Harry Potter.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. I’m dreadfully sorry. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Terrible habit of mine, but I have yet to do anything about it.”

“No harm done, Professor.”

Hermione Granger, who had been several steps behind Harry, stopped just short of running into him. Ron Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to be taking his own sweet time as he yawned and muttered something incoherent except for “summer”, “sleep”, and “bloody classes”.

“You must be on your way to breakfast,” the warlock noted. “I’ll get out of your way.”

The golden trio, as they were apparently called, shuffled past and Merlin moved to continue down the corridor. But for an old man, he had excellent hearing, so he stopped short when Harry, thinking that he was out of earshot, said, “I don’t trust him.”

Merlin would have followed to hear the rest of the conversation, but if he was caught, that would just reinforce the Potter boy’s mistrust. And he still needed to talk to the portraits.

“I just need a quiet corner where I cannot be overheard…”

The Room of Requirement came to mind, but he doubted that the figures in the paintings could enter the room. Certainly none of them would think to try.

So he asked the castle. Hogwarts would know its inner corridors and hidden nooks far better than anyone alive.

 _This way,_ it seemed to whisper. _Over here._

He followed the invisible trail that the castle was leading him along. It led to a small reading corner in the library with a small portrait that was currently empty. He sat down and politely knocked on the painted door.

“Yes, yes, what is it?”

Merlin only had an instant to recognize the voice before he was face to face with himself.

“Well,” the portrait said huffily. “I was wondering when you would end up here.”

“You knew that I was here?”

The painted Merlin crossed his arms and scoffed. “Of course I knew you were here. Every painting in the castle has been abuzz about your appearance.”

“Then I suppose you already know why I’m here. Have you talked to them about me?”

“I told the more gullible ones that you are a distant descendant or, if they are stupid enough to believe me like Sir Cadageon, I say that you are just a person who happens to look like me—no relation at all.”

“Yes,” Merlin leaned forward earnestly. “But will they tell anyone about me?”

“No. Not even the ones who suspect who you—who we—really are going to say anything. And the only person who routinely talks to the portraits is Dumbledore. I don’t go anywhere near him, and neither should you.” His artistic representation wagged a finger at him. “I’m just a painting, there’s not much he can get from me, but if he ever bothers to scratch the surface of your mind…”

They both let that thought trail off with all the implications it brought with it. Merlin had known coming into Hogwarts that Dumbledore was one of the most powerful Occlumens living, and the warlock was not willing to lay bare his secrets by challenging his mental shields against the Headmaster’s.

“Oh, and stay away from the lemon drops, if he offers them, unless you want a potent dose of Veritaserum.”

“Don’t you want to know why I am here?” Merlin asked. “I know I would.”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“So you’ve noticed Rowena?”

“The Kyndltry kid? Oh, I thought… Never mind.”

Before Merlin could ask his effigy why he thought the warlock had come to Hogwarts, he had disappeared behind the painted door again. He knew himself enough to know that he could be as troublesome as Kilgharrah when it came to answering questions. He would never know what the painted warlock thought he was doing there unless he deigned to tell himself what he had not already noticed.

Merlin massaged his temple—all of the confusing thoughts surrounding that kind of talking to himself was starting to give him a headache.

 _Come!_ The silent call of the school halls grew more insistent, drawing him down corridors and passages towards some unknown goal. He became so focus on the directions that he didn’t see the student until they collided in a blind corner.

He fell flat on his back and the student landed on her face next to him. Her school bag skittered away, slipping its contents along the way.

“I’m terribly sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Merlin said as he struggled back to his knees, and then his feet. Then he noticed that the student he had run into was none other than Rowena Kyndltry. “We must stop meeting like this.”

She accepted the hand he offered after wiping her scuffed palms on her school uniform. “Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going either.”

Rowena flashed him an apologetic smile, then seemed to realize that her school bag had emptied everything in the corridor.

Merlin moved to help her pick up her books when one caught his eye. He picked it up, curious why one of her school books looked so familiar, despite the fact that it was so old.

 _This isn’t a school book…_ Merlin almost dropped the book when he realized that he was holding the copy of his own grimoire that he’d copied for Darius Kyddle to study. He barely registered in the corner of his eye when Rowena froze, seeing the book he held. In a moment of bravery, which most people didn’t associate with the Slytherin house, she snatched the book from his grasp and raced down the corridor as fast as she could move.

Merlin stood there, seriously considering whether or not to run after her, but a familiar twinge in his back silenced that thought.

“It doesn’t matter hugely,” Merlin admitted aloud. “But I shall need to speak with Miss Kyndltry after class tomorrow. It appears we have much to discuss.”


	9. It's Not Paranoia; It's Caution

“I don’t trust him,” Harry confided as soon as they were far enough down the corridor that the old wizard wouldn’t hear them.

“Why not, Harry?” Hermione asked, looking around cautiously and motioning for him to lower his voice. “He seems like a perfectly nice man, and I’m sure he’ll be a good professor.”

“Look,” he said, paying slight heed to caution and lowering his voice a bit. “Professor Lupin is the third Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve had in three years because the other two went bad, in one form or another. This time, I’m sure of Lupin.”

“Why does that mean that Professor Balinor is bad?”

“Think about it Hermione; he’s taking over History of Magic—a class which has been taught by Professor Binns since the turn of the century. And he’s a ghost. Why would he need someone to take over for him?”

“Yeah,” Ron butted in. “He was a ghost when mum went to school. We have all gotten to use her books because he never changes them. Now all of the we have different books!”

“Do you have a problem with that, Ron?” Hermione asked, rounding on the red head.

“No?” He replied as if it was a question. With him, it was always better to test the answers he gave Hermione, before he actually committed to them. Especially when they had to do with books.

“Good.” She turned back. “You have a point, Harry. I mean, it’s not like you can do much to ghosts; they’re already dead.”

“They can be petrified.”

They all shivered, thinking about the Chamber of Secrets disaster that happened last year. Ron reflexively felt for his wand and Hermione unconsciously swung her arms a little longer to feel the movement in them. Harry’s reaction to his own words were harder to identify. He started listening harder to the walls. The basilisk was dead, yes, _but what if there were more? What if I’m too late next time?_

“Look at us,” Hermione said suddenly. “Expecting the worst from a teacher we haven’t even had yet! I bet a sickle he’s not as bad as Professor Snape.” She winced and looked around because they were entering the Great Hall.

Snape was sitting at the teachers’ table at the far end of the room. He fixed them with a disapproving look, before continuing his conversation with Professor Sinistra. He was much too far away to have heard the bet.

They sat down near the middle of the Gryffindor table, a place that was practically reserved for them. Ron immediately started piling toast on his plate, reaching for the butter and jam. He rolled a couple of sausages onto the plate and speared a muffin with a fork. If it was within reach, it made it to Ron Weasley’s plate.

“So what do we have first?” he asked around a mouthful of scone.

“Care of Magical Creatures.” Hermione was so used to answering Ron’s questions about his own schedule that she didn’t even need to think about it.

“Oh,” Harry exclaimed suddenly. “Hagrid’s teaching it!”

“Don’t get too excited.” Hermione spread butter on the muffin she just cut in half. “It may be two hours with Hagrid, but it’s also two hours with Malfoy.”

They entertained a collective groan as they realized the full implication of what their morning consisted of. Harry hazarded a glance towards the Slytherin table. Draco, as if he had some supernatural ability to know when they were talking about him, pinned Harry with a suspicious stare before Gryffindor’s golden boy managed to turn away.

As he did, Harry noticed an odd collection of students at the end of the Hufflepuff table. There were several Hufflepuff, which was to be expected, and there was a Ravenclaw amongst them. But nestled at the heart of the group was a Slytherin girl.

“’Mione, who’s that?” he asked, nodding at the girl in the middle of the group.

She looked over at the group and didn’t bother to hide her confusion. “The Ravenclaw girl is Luna Lovegood; she’s a second year. And there’s a Hufflepuff girl from our year—Megan Jones. But I don’t know the Slytherin girl.”

Ron looked up. “Hey. That was the girl in the hospital wing after we got out of the Chamber last year.”

Harry looked at Ron, surprised that he actually had the answer.

“What?” he asked when they were both staring at him. “Lockhart kept asking her if she knew who he was, and she kept disappearing under the sheets. I thought she was just shy; I didn’t know she was in Slytherin. Maybe she was ignoring him because his blood wasn’t pure enough. It’s not like I know her name.”

Harry looked back at the group. “It looks like a trap to me. But I don’t know if she’s the one making it.”

As he watched, the girl got up and hurried out of the room, closely followed by the Lovegood girl.

“Honestly, Harry.” Hermione sighed in exasperation. “You’re seeing threats everywhere. First Professor Balinor, now it’s some Slytherin girl you don’t even know?”

“Can you blame me? First there’s Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban because he wants to kill me, then there are dementors on the train. And before all of those, I almost got expelled because of that incident with Aunt Marge.”

“But you didn’t and you’re here now,” she said firmly. “So stop trying to see threats where there aren’t any!” She stood up and grabbed her book bag. “I’ll see the two of you in class.”

“Blimey. Could you make her angrier?”

“I was trying; couldn’t you tell?” Harry retorted. He stabbed at a piece of toast with a fork idly. “We should probably head to class soon.”

* * *

 

“Heard you passed out on the train, Potter.”

Harry felt his shoulders stiffen as he turned to face Draco Malfoy. “And what did you do?” he asked woodenly. “Hide in your compartment behind a pile of chocolate frogs?”

Before Malfoy could respond, Hagrid’s booming voice filled the clearing. “Welcome t’ Care of Magical Creatures. Today, I’m goin’ to introduce ya t’ a beautiful beast called a Hippogriff.”

He stepped to the side and Harry could see large birdlike creatures the size of horses. The back half of the creature did appear to be horse, while the front half seemed to be an eagle, complete with wings.

“This,” Hagrid said proudly, “is Buckbeak. Who’d like t’ introduce themselves?”

The entire class took a step back, except for Harry, though he made no move to volunteer either.

_Buckbeak looks like he could trample me without trying._

“Ah, Harry.” The half-giant grinned and Harry realized that the entire class—Gryffindor and Slytherin alike—had volunteered him for near certain dismemberment. “Come on, don’ be shy.”

Reluctantly—though he tried to hide his reluctance for Hagrid’s sake—he stepped forward.

“Now,” Hagrid pulled him close as if to tell him a secret, but kept talking so that everyone could hear. “Hippogriffs are proud creature. They demand respect. What you gotta do is approach them slowly and bow. Show that you trust them and respect them, and they will return that respect.”

He gave Harry an encouraging push towards the large creature. “Go ’head. Try it.”

Against his better judgment, Harry edged forward until he was within reach of Buckbeak’s enormous front talons. He bowed low to the creature, and time stopped. The hippogriff seemed to be studying him. Then it—he—stooped forward on one claw and dropped his head to the boy.

“Well done, Harry.” Hagrid clapped. “I think he’ll let you ride him.”

“What—?” Harry could barely get that out before out before the half-giant picked him up like an over-sized doll and placed him on Buckbeak’s back. It was instinct alone that kept him on the hippogriff as he felt the muscles bunch underneath him before launching boy and bird into the sky.

It was a very different experience from riding on a broomstick, as Harry could feel the life in the creature he rode, as well as every pump of the large wings. Once they were about level with the highest tower of Hogwarts, Buckbeak evened out into a glide over the lake. The morning light from the east, behind the castle sparkled on the water, reflecting the orange and pink of the sky up at him. Then, to a call that Harry himself could not hear, Buckbeak wheeled around in the air and spiraled back down into the clearing where his class was waiting.

Hagrid lifted Harry down from the hippogriff’s back. “So,” he asked quietly. “How ’m I doin’ my firs’ day?”

“Brilliant.” Harry managed, though he was still mostly breathless from the flight.

It was obvious that the rest of the class were warming to the idea of approaching the large creatures. The Slytherins especially were clamoring for one of their own to get such a ride and pushed forward Draco Malfoy—as they always did—as spokesman.

Harry didn’t think that Draco was the type to bow to anyone, much less to some creature like a hippogriff. But he never got the chance to find out.

As Draco approached Buckbeak, he tripped over a root. Buckbeak, startled by the sudden approach, reared up. Time seemed to freeze: Draco’s arm had come up to protect himself and Buckbeak’s talons were coming down. The instant they met, Draco dropped to the ground. He didn’t make a sound other than a startled squeak. The Slytherin boy had gone paler than Harry had thought possible, clutching the shreds of his robe around his damaged arm. There was no shouting, no loud protestations that he was going to tell his father; he only swayed as blood dripped from the tips of his fingers.

Harry immediately stepped forward. “I can take him to the Infirmary.”

“No, Harry. I’m the professor; I should do it.”

Hagrid picked the boy up and hurried across the grounds to the castle, several Slytherin students in close pursuit. The students who had stayed in the clearing carefully edged away from the hippogriffs. All except Harry, who moved to comfort the confused and upset Buckbeak.

* * *

 

When Harry got back to the castle, Lucius Malfoy was in the entrance hall.

“I demand to see Dumbledore immediately! He is putting the students in danger, allowing an ill-qualified half-giant who was expelled! Allowing them near hippogriff? Unheard of! I will not stand for this! My son is in the hospital wing due to his incompetence!”

There was more, but Harry couldn’t be bothered to listen to the eldest Malfoy’s rant for long. He’d had his fill of the man the year before when he all but admitted that he had slipped Voldemort’s diary in Ginny’s things.

Harry made for the stairs to put away his books before lunch. After lunch, he had a free period, then Transfiguration. He happened to be passing the Infirmary and heard Draco talking as well.

“…shouldn’t have told him. He’s going to make a big deal about things, try to get half the school fired, and accomplish nothing at all. I don’t know why you even had to contact him. Nothing was really that wrong.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” came Madame Pomfrey’s voice. “you are not the school nurse; I am. And as the nurse, I am duty-bound to inform the parents and guardians of all students if their student is severely injured in any way. And your injuries were not nothing. I may be able to fix them as if they were never there, but had Hagrid not arrived as quickly as he did, you would have been in serious danger. As it is, I will be able to release you in time for your next class.”

“But there’s no point in telling my father. He would have gone straight to the Headmaster’s office. Mark my words—he won’t come here.”

Suddenly, Harry felt guilty, as if he was hearing something that he shouldn’t have. He slunk past the door, hoping that it wasn’t obvious that he had been eavesdropping. Draco didn’t notice, and if Madame Pomfrey did, she had the tact not to draw attention to him.

After dropping off his book bag, Harry went back down to the Great Hall for lunch. It was not unusual for people to be talking, but Harry somehow knew that they were all talking about the same thing.

He slipped into his usual place and Hermione arrived just after him.

“Well, you wanted to know who that girl was this morning,” she said. “Her name is Rowena Kyndltry and I’m afraid you may have been right to be suspicious about her.”

“Why? What did she do?”

“Remember how McGonagall taught us the reverse of the _vera verto_ charm? Apparently, instead of turning the water goblet into a small creature, she conjured out of thin air.”

Ron looked up from his mound of food. “What’s wrong with that? I mean, yeah, it wasn’t the assignment, but it’s still magic.”

Harry nodded in agreement with Ron.

“You don’t get it? This is basic magical theory!” Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. “She didn’t just summon the bird from somewhere in the world or transfigure something into something else! She created a living creature, some luminescent blue bird that doesn’t actually exist, out of thin air. That kind of conjuration and manifestation is considered dark magic.”

Finally, the boys seemed to know what she was talking about.

“Yes,” she confirmed without them asking aloud for it. “Rowena Kyndltry is a dark witch.”

Harry scanned the room for the girl, checking all of the different tables for a glimpse of her dark curls.

She wasn’t there, and he suspected that she wouldn’t be there at dinner either. But he would keep an eye on her next time she did show up. Whatever dark witch or wizard was teaching her magic was bound to show up, and he could use a distraction from the Sirius Black issue.


	10. Dark Ladies Aren't Necessarily Broken

Rowena had spent the rest of the day with her head down, trying to pretend that all the people staring at her weren't actually staring at her. Those strange words wouldn't stop whispering themselves in the back of her head. If anything, they only got louder as she wanted more and more to hide from the suspicious eyes. She went to lunch and dinner in the kitchens.

Again, she got up early to avoid the crowds of students that threw themselves against the walls to get out of her path. What was worse was that she seemed to go up in the estimations of certain fellow Slytherins.

Not ones she had hoped to start associating with. But after a year of not even being considered talented or important—a year in which people had written her off in every way—she was suddenly on everyone's radar.

What was most unnerving to her was the fact that the professors hadn't said anything about it. Not to her or to the greater student population anyway.

 _It probably has something to do with Professor Dumbledore's habit to let the cards fall as they may,_ she thought as she walked down the corridors to the Great Hall. She didn't really want to sit with the rest of her house, but if she didn't start attending meals then people might try tracking her down to see if she was up to something sinister. _If I'm going to find out what's going on with me, the last thing I need is an audience._

It seemed like it had been a year since Luna had suggested asking Professor Balinor about her magic, but it had only been a day—one long, stressful, rumor-creating day. It was still an option and, after the events of yesterday, more important than it had been when she'd just wanted to be a good student. Now it was a matter of necessity, a matter of control—a matter of everyone's safety, her own included.

She took a seat at the very end of the Slytherin table closest to the teachers, flinching every time one of her fellow students turned to glare at her but, given the early hour, there were mercifully few. She gave the high table a covert glance and was surprised to see the magical history professor up bright and early and tucking into a buttered roll.

She wasn't sure when the glance turned into a stare, but she was transfixed by the absurd normality of the scene. Then he looked up and smiled at her.

He smiled at her as if there weren't rumors about her being the protégé of the Dark Lord. As if there was nothing wrong with her, as if she was special rather t han cursed.

And in spite of everything that had happened the day before, Rowena smiled back.

A shadow appeared on the table in front of her before a pair of arms wrapped around her. She started to fight until she realized that it was Megan holding her.

"Are you alright? You weren't at lunch or dinner yesterday," Megan asked, letting Rowena go so she could turn around. "I don't blame you; everyone was saying such horrible things. Luna told me what happened."

As if on cue, Luna appeared at Rowena's elbow.

"I could come with you, if you want." Luna said it in her usual dreamy voice, not bothering to explain how she knew exactly what Rowena had been thinking about in that moment. "I could be there as moral support."

"Thanks, Luna, but I think this is something I need to talk to Professor Balinor about myself." Rowena chuckled, "Besides, people might think that I used some kind of dark magic to keep you at my side."

"Oh, it's magic. It's just not dark."

Both Megan and Rowena stared at Luna, but she didn't bother to clarify. Finally Megan turned back to the Slytherin.

"Why Professor Balinor? Why not the Headmaster or your Head of House?"

"If they knew anything that could help me control my magic, wouldn't they have mentioned it by now? I am a pureblood student and, if nothing else, my parents have connections to people in pretty high places. They wouldn't want to upset that hornet's nest if at all possible," Rowena pointed out. "But Professor Balinor is a new teacher—a Magical History Professor whose not going to drone on about this goblin revolt or that centaur uprising. He's probably at least come up against different kinds of magic, or magical disabilities, and he can, at the very least, point me in the right direction."

"He feels the same," Luna whispered. "Exactly like you. Well, maybe not exactly, but enough. I think he can definitely help you."

Rowena felt a surge of something—and if it wasn't hope, it was pretty close to it. "Thanks, Luna."

Megan wrapped her up in a hug. "We're your friends—never forget that. We want what's best for you because you deserve it. I hope he has the answers you need."

Even as she hugged her back, Rowena was jokingly muttering, "I better head to Herbology with the Gryffindors before you ruin my reputation as the new Dark Lady."

* * *

 Professor Sprout mercifully allowed Rowena to work by herself, not that any of the Gryffindors wanted anything to do with her. The Head of Hufflepuff spared her a sympathetic glance, making her wonder if the teachers really didn't know what to do with her. None of them had bothered to take her aside and try to steer her from the path her fellow students thought she was walking.

Were they so ready to give up on her?

A flash of red in the corner of Rowena's eye caught her attention. She looked up in time to see Ginny Weasley duck her head.

 _We might have been friends if I hadn't been sorted into Slytherin_ , she thought, not bothering to disguise her own perusal of the girl. _Now she's spying on me._

But she could take the Gryffindors' disapproving silence over the endless questions she received from the Ravenclaws. And she would take the questions over the looks of terror from the Hufflepuffs whenever she entered a room. More than anything else that look twisted in her gut, making her feel like the worst human being in the world. She would take a Dementor's Kiss over having to face that everywhere she went.

* * *

 History of Magic was held in one of the south towers and, in previous years, the classroom was dim and dusty—a scholar's space.

Rowena gasped when she walked into the space that had been utterly transformed. _I didn't know there were windows behind those curtains_ , was her first thought. Not only were the windows uncovered, letting the late morning sunlight spill into the space, they were also open to allow the light breeze off the lake make the room seem far larger than it was.

Even knowing that people would be staring at her back all through class, she took a seat in the front of the room. Moments later, Luna appeared at her side.

Behind them, the rest of the class filed in. Like grease and water, the Ravenclaws and Slytherins separated among others of their own house. It might have been her imagination, but Rowena could have sworn that some of the looks that were sent her way were more jealous than accusing.

Despite knowing that they wouldn't have a ghost for a teacher, everyone was startled as the door opened and Professor Balinor entered. His long white hair and beard resembled the headmaster a bit, but Dumbledore was never seen in such a vibrant shade of red-orange.

"Today," he said, advancing to the front of the class, "is an adventure. As you probably well know, I have not taught a class before, so I will require your help. I want to know what you know about the history of magic."

Several people groaned, because this was usually the point when the professor brought out a stack of essays.

"So tell me: what do you know? It can be something you learned last year, something your parents told you, something you read once in a book, anything."

No stack of papers appeared on his desk, nor on any of their desks. He simply sat down in his chair, the gold cord around his waist sweeping the floor.

Luna spoke up first. "The Ministry of Magic has not spoken with or recognized the Creature Council since its creation from of the Wizarding Council. This has caused rather strained relations between magical creature and wizards in England, which sometimes has been the cause of uprisings and other conflicts."

It was like Luna's words released a flood of information because no one was willing to let a girl they all called Looney Lovegood have the last word.

Then someone—Rowena didn't turn around to find out who—said, "Dark magic, though not technically illegal, is more or less taboo, mainly because of the cost demanded of the caster." It was a Slytherin, of that she was certain, and their eyes felt like they were burning a hole in the back of her robes. "As such it is generally agreed people don't use it in front of anyone else, at the very least."

The statement had drawn the rest of the eyes in the classroom to her, and she wilted a little in her chair. Then she noticed that Professor Balinor's disappointed frown was not directed at her, but past her—presumably to whomever had spoken.

"That should be all for today." There was something in the professor's tone that assured them that discussion would have continued if not for that last comment. "But before I send you off to lunch, I want to tell you about the final exam. Rather than a written test, I have decided to have you do a short presentation about a period of history that fascinates you. You may work alone or with a partner, but I want you to come back next week with a tentative topic of focus. In preparation for next class, please read chapter one of _The History of the Druidic Peoples of England_. You are dismissed."

Rowena sat still as her classmates and housemates filed out. Luna, as well, because she had asked her to leave this matter to her alone.

Taking a moment to steel her resolve, Rowena stood up. "Professor Balinor? I was hoping to have a word with you in private."

"Certainly, Miss Kyndltry. My classroom is your classroom." He smiled and his blue eyes sparkled. "To be entirely honest, I had been hoping to speak to you as well."

Rowena felt her shoulders droop ever so slightly. Here was the lecture she had been bracing herself for. "I suppose you've heard about the incident I caused yesterday."

"Incident? Oh, yes, the bird. It was a lovely display of magic, well done."

"Well done? That shouldn't be possible! Magic doesn't create things! I thought you were going to lecture me for using dark magic, not applaud me!"

A corner of Professor Balinor's mouth quirked up. "I should lecture you for doing something you believe to be impossible? What kind of a teacher would I be if I didn't encourage you? Besides, such magic is possible—just not with the magic that you have been accustomed to."

"What do you mean?" Rowena's eyes narrowed, but it felt like she was closer than ever to the answers she so desperately needed.

"The magic that is taught here, that most wizards have used and abused for the past three hundred years, is a diluted form of true magic. Old Magic."

A chill passed through her, but she wasn't afraid. Instead, it was more like she had been waiting for this feeling, waiting for someone to tell her those words.

"When your other teachers told me of your difficulty with magic, I realized that you must be like the druids. Perhaps a genetic throwback to a stronger, purer form of magic in a person. Not to say that user of Old Magic are infallible. Magic itself is neutral; it's the person who uses it that determines whether its dark or light."

Rowena had stopped listening at 'purer form of magic'. "You mean I'm not broken?"

"You're not broken. In fact…" He whispered something she couldn't quite hear, holding out his hands, palm up. She was about to ask what he was doing when a book appeared out of thin air and fell into his waiting hands. A book that looked a little bit like "You'll need a book to study for your unique magic."

"I have one!" She said quickly. The grimoire was tucked in the corner of a trunk, but it was hers. _At least it is now…_

The expression on the professor's face was trapped between amusement and confusion.

"It's a family heirloom," she tried hurriedly to explain. "I just—I don't know how to read it."

Professor Balinor's smile returned. "That's fine. I believe that Old English is technically a dead language, but I have a feeling you'll pick it up pretty quickly."

"Okay. So we should set up some times to meet so you can teach me?"

He nodded, then added gravely, "I must impress on you the fact that words have power, especially with your magic. You will need to watch what you say around others because, even if you aren't using a spell, your intentions may cause your magic to act on its own out of instinct."

Rowena nodded, a faint memory of commanding her music box to come to her rose to the surface of her mind. "I can send you an owl with times of when I'm available. I don't remember my weekly schedule right now."

"That should be fine. But you should probably go. I believe a class should be arriving soon, and I don't want to deprive you of your lunch."

Rowena practically floated down to the Great Hall. She sat with Luna and Megan at the end of the Slytherin table, and not even the suspicious stares leveled her way could shake her mood. The words kept repeating in her head.

_You're not broken…_


	11. Unbound Potential

When he'd heard about the incident with the small bird Rowena created, Merlin was ecstatic. It meant that the girl was slowly learning how her magic worked. He had been nearly twice her age when Gaius had given him the spell book shortly after he arrived in Camelot. But even then, he'd had a functional understanding of how his magic worked: he asked it to do something and it did. If it could. Bringing people back to life or saving them from the brink of death was never easy or accomplished on his own.

But there was something more to it this time, something special about finding a student whose entire world is entrenched in a different kind of magic from theirs. It was that kind of brain-bending challenge that Merlin had been hoping for since he had said his goodbyes to Darius Kyddle. It was only fitting that Kyddle's so-many-times great granddaughter was the one bringing back the Old Magic.

Merlin set his grimoire on the corner of his desk. It was an old book with a leather cover and light brass ornamentation—a scholar's book—and it wasn't as if any of the students in his next class would be able to read it. Third year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, a class that should prove eventful in another way because Harry Potter was going to be in it.

From what he'd heard and seen, Harry was an average student who didn't seem to excel in anything that didn't hold his interest longer than ten minutes. But history's heroes often had lackluster beginnings. Merlin himself had been a servant for years before reports of his magic became common and even then they had called him Emrys rather than his name. It was by miracle alone—or perhaps some intervention on the part of Sir Geoffrey—that it was Merlin who was remembered.

In truth, Merlin saw a lot of himself in the boy—desperately trying to disappear back into the background and unsure how. Destiny had them both by the throat and it wasn't about to let go anytime soon.

Hermione Granger was the first one to arrive and she meticulously arranged her desk before tucking a gold chain back into her collar. Professor McGonagall had mentioned that the girl would be making use of a time-turner for her studies as she had elected to take several classes that met at the same time. A couple of Ravenclaw seventh years were also using them in order to complete their coursework before they sat their NEWTs. All of these students had acquired a special lecture in their use, as well as the approval of the Ministry of Magic.

Moments later, a cluster of Hufflepuffs arrived, followed closely by several Gryffindors he hadn't been formally introduced to yet. The other teachers had warned him about several of the students—like Seamus Finnegan, who managed to cause an explosion with a standard levitation spell. Or Neville Longbottom, who looked like a wrong look could shatter him.

Harry Potter ran in just as Merlin was about to begin class. Ron Weasley was tripping after him.

"Sorry, we were trying—Hermione! Where did you disappear to?"

In the front row, Ms. Granger rolled her eyes before turning to them. "Class, obviously. Now sit down, for heaven's sake!"

They did, in the back row, but neither of them moved to take out any parchment to take notes or their books to follow along.

 _Perhaps by next class,_ Merlin thought, reading the disinterest in many faces throughout the room.

"As you all know," he said, starting this class like the last one. "I am not a ghost, nor have I taught you in previous years. So I want to know what you know."

There it was, the subtly disguised groans, the slouching shoulders, students reluctantly reaching towards their bags for a quill.

"So tell me. What do you know about the history of magic? It can be something you learned in this class, something your parents told you, something you read in a book…" His eyes turned toward Ms. Granger of their own accord. "Maybe something you were told once, but aren't sure is true. Anything."

He made a wide sweeping gesture with his hands before putting them together and sitting forward. This was the moment he loved, the look of utter confusion when no quiz paper appeared on his desk or the desk in front of them. Then the dawning realization that this was neither a lecture nor a test, but a conversation. Ms. Granger's hand shot up first.

"Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"To date, wizards and goblins have the best working arrangement of any magical creature, though that is based largely on the many bloody goblin rebellions and the fear that, since the goblins control Gringotts, the wizarding financial system would completely break down if any move was made against them."

"Excellent connections, Ms. Granger! Ten points to Gryffindor!"

The effect was less competitive than the debate between the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins that Luna had opened, but it was there nevertheless. If anyone could mention anything, everyone wanted their say. Some of the more uncertain ones quoted well-known facts, while others decided to come up with the most obscure.

The quiet chime that signaled the end of class came much sooner than anyone wanted.

"Before you leave, I wanted to let you know that your homework is to read the first chapter of the book on the Druidic peoples. And the final for my class, in place of an exam, is a presentation on a period of history that you find particularly interesting. Come to class next week with a tentative topic. I want to make sure that no one is focusing on the exact same things. You may work in groups of no more than two. Dismissed."

Students shuffled out quickly, congregating back in the groups they had arrived with. And Ms. Granger approached his desk.

"Professor Balinor? Where did you get that book?" She asked, pointing at the grimoire. In fact, she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off of it.

"I've had it for many years. My mentor gave it to me to help me learn magic." Both statements, he realized with pride, were completely true. "Why do you ask?"

"You're sure it's not possessed by some kind of dark magic?"

"Absolutely certain."

"Okay, but…" She stopped and looked up at him. "I could have sworn that it's been whispering to me most of the class period."

"Really?" He picked up the grimoire, weighing it in his hand.

 _I thought Ms. Granger was progressing quickly with new magic. An affinity for Old Magic is usually associated with difficulty with new magic…_ His mind raced through a hundred different questions that he dismissed with a shake of his head. "Ms. Granger, I wonder if you would do something for me."

"Yes, sir?"

"Put your wand down on the desk and hold out your hand, palm up, please."

She did so, though she looked loathe to be separated from her wand.

Merlin took a deep breath. If he was right, he would need to change all of his assumptions about Old Magic and start from the very beginning. "Now I want you to say ' _leoht_ '."

" _Leoht_."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a small orb of pure light grew into existence, hovering over her palm. With a cry, Hermione jerked her hand away as if it had burned her.

"But that's wandless magic! And that's like no incantation I've ever learned!"

"But it explains why the grimoire was calling to you. It chose you as its next caster." He held it out to her, and she took it, even though he could see her hands shaking. After a moment, the orb of light winked out of existence. "The magic isn't too different. It's just an older form of what we generally use now. But you'll want to work on reading and pronouncing Old English. It's one of the languages of power and it doesn't respond to translation spells. And don't use any spells with your wand unless you want to burn it out or explode. They tend to overwhelm the wand core."

She nodded as she picked up her wand from the desk, but she looked like she was still processing everything that had just happened. "Is there anyone else that can do…that?"

"At least one other, besides me. But that person can't use new magic at all—a true genetic throwback. I don't know about anyone else yet, but I think I should start looking now because that's a lot of dormant power." Merlin was starting a mental list of all the people he should definitely test, and it was getting longer by the second. "I'll have to take it up with the other teachers. How could I have missed this? All those years waiting by the stupid lake and it takes a complete genetic throwback to get me to actually look for things? Somebody in Avalon is laughing at me."

At that moment, Merlin realized that Hermione was still in the room, looking at him with a look of curiosity and confusion.

"I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to an old man berate himself for stupidity," he joked. "You should probably head to the library to find something to help you read Old English. You can ask those questions later."

She seemed to realize that she was staring at him, and shook herself. "Sorry, professor. See you next class."

Merlin knew as he watched her leaving that she was going to look up the things he had mentioned when he slipped. She might get somewhere with a lake and Avalon, but her leads would end there. Their history books may have remembered Merlin well enough, but they didn't include Balinor, the last dragonlord, or Hunith, the mother of Merlin. And until Arthur returned, he would hold onto those memories, honoring them in his own way.

* * *

At the mid-weekly staff meeting, all of the other teachers wanted to know how Merlin was handling the class. Apparently a record number of students had approached Madam Pince about finding books about one historical period or another and several students in Professor Snape's potions class had their magical history textbooks out beside their potions books, reading while they stirred.

"…and I've never seen Cuthbert so excited or so jealous before," Professor Sprout was saying. "He said something about borrowing your book from the headmaster so he could read it for himself."

"I'm sure I have an extra copy somewhere if he wants it." Merlin moved to go.

"No, it's fine," Professor McGonagall said putting a hand on Merlin's arm. "Cuthbert prefers to read a book before he decides to keep it. And he is usually very set in his ways. His previous textbooks were ones he found in the library. He's lectured from his notes so much that he doesn't even need to look at them anymore."

"Oh? Perhaps I should ask if I can see them, find out what he would have been covering this year."

"No." Professor Snape, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, sat forward. "Most students have had or will have many years of his lectures about goblin rebellions and wizarding government structures. You've gotten them excited about history, which is something that we don't often see around here."

"Oh. Really? History is fascinating; it's how we know where we come from." _And some people end up part of it,_ Merlin thought, mentally citing himself and Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

"Yes, but not everyone is interested dry fact, which is how history is usually presented. You have engaged them, inspired them. We may have a few future historians in their midst if you continue your teaching this way." McGonagall smiled. "You make an excellent teacher."

Merlin smiled to himself. _I've had a lot of practice._ "That brings me to someone I wanted to ask about. I know that there are several students that are having trouble with normal spells. I had the same problem when I was first learning to control my magic."

"Really?" Professor Flitwick moved closer. "How did you overcome it?"

"Well…" Merlin had rehearsed this part in his head, but saying it aloud made the story depend more on the believability of his story rather than some private centuries-old fact. "My mentor knew a different kind of magic—one that didn't naturally need a wand or any other form of a focus. I apparently had an affinity to that kind of magic first."

"You had an affinity for wandless magic before anything else?" Professor Lupin joined the conversation from where he had been grading quiz papers at a nearby desk.

"…Yes." Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't lying exactly, but their incredulity was shaking his resolve. "I think the recent incident in Minerva's class was a display of this kind of magic."

"The incident that has the whole student body crying 'dark magic'?"

"Yes. My mentor called it Old Magic. He said that it could accomplish more with less of a drain on the caster's power."

Across the table, McGonagall nodded, folding her hands on the table. "So creating a new creature out of thin air…"

"Takes about as much magic as regular spell," he finished, nodding. "Look. _Gewyrc an lif._ "

Light shimmered above Merlin's palm before forming into a small, supernaturally blue butterfly. It had been the first thing he had cast after reconnecting with his magic in the Crystal Cave. Morgana's trick may have destroyed what he recognized as his magic core, but it could never deprive him of magic completely.

_Morgana was suddenly in front of him again as he stabbed her with Arthur's sword. It echoed in his ears—the sharp, pained intake of breath as the blade slipped easily into her body. So many expressions passed over her face: fear, pain, shock, hate, love, betrayal, understanding, and, strangest of all, regret._

_He had known this moment would come, and still it twisted in his gut now that it was here. He had to kill her. And this time it was far more intimate than killing Nimueh—there was no magic involved in it, just Merlin and Morgana and a sword._

_It occurred to him absently, as he heard Arthur shifting in his armor behind him, that Merlin had a terrible habit of killing people that Arthur loved. Uther, Agravaine, and now Morgana. Their blood would always be on his hands._

"Emery? Emery, are you alright?" Someone put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, drawing him out of his memories.

He drew in a deep breath. "Yes. Sorry, I was just thinking of the last time I cast that spell. It was a long time ago."

"Bad memories?" This from Professor Sprout.

"No, just sad. People who died a long time ago and still haunt me. Did I get around to asking about creating a extracurricular activity for people with that kind of magic?"

If the professors were surprised by the sudden shift in topic, they didn't show it. "How do you intend to test for this kind of magic?" Professor Lupin asked, the quizzes forgotten.

"Like this. _Leoht_." An orb of blue light appeared in the center of Merlin's palm and rose to hover in the center of the room. "I have students who are interested attempt to cast it. The magic is extremely responsive and should give an indication as to whether or not the student has an affinity for it."

The room was silent as many of the teachers stared up at the ball of light.

"We should talk to the Headmaster…" McGonagall started to say before Snape cut her off.

"The Headmaster always seems to have other concerns on his mind than a few students with a magical learning disability. As Miss Kyndltry is in my house and is likely the one who stands to benefit the most from this club or activity, I would like to see this taken care of now. If it will ease your minds, I will sit in on all the meetings and ensure that nothing untoward is happening."

The rest of the professors didn't look too convinced. Finally McGonagall, who had assumed the role of their spokeswoman, replied, "I suppose that shouldn't be a problem. And I can authorize this as deputy headmistress. That child has needed someone on her side for a while. Do look into Mr. Finnegan and Mr. Longbottom; I believe that one or both of them will prove adept with this old magic."

As if a dam had burst, the meeting turned into a conversation about what students should be tested, and Merlin was glad of their input; it narrowed down his list immensely.

And he was going to be teaching magic again. The last time he had done that, Darius Kyddle had been a child and Hogwarts had been in its infancy. He wasn't exactly sure what this resurgence of Old Magic meant for the rest of the world—or even for him—but it was exciting in a way that nothing had been for a long time. And for once, Merlin would wait and see what came of it.


	12. In Light of Grim Events

 Harry sat hunched over his History of Magic text, reading the same paragraph for the fourth time that morning. He didn't like it. At dinner the night before they had announced a new club, one that taught a special kind of magic to those that had the affinity for it, and apparently Hermione was going to attend.

It wouldn't have been that bad if it had been any other teacher offering it. But it was Professor Balinor.

Harry couldn't deny that class had been interesting—the professor was a far better teacher than either Quirrell or Lockhart—but he was new and, unlike Professor Lupin, not tied to anyone in particular. The man was a wild card and that had meant trouble too often.

"What are you going to do your project on, Harry?" Ron asked, glancing over his shoulder at the book. "I was going to do mine on the early seers and how they shaped our world. I figured I could ask Professor Trelawney about it."

Hermione answered without looking up. "I was going to do mine about the Statute of Secrecy. It seems stupid to have some big secret if witches and wizards are going to start getting caught on security cameras in a few years."

"That's true," Harry said, looking up from his book. "I hadn't thought of that."

She looked up at him. "You still didn't mention what you were doing your project on."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "That's because I don't know if it will count. It's history, but it's not exactly that old."

"Not all history is old," Hermione pointed out. "You're technically part of history—as the boy who lived—but you're only 13."

"I know. It's just easier to think of history as something that happened a long time ago. Not when there are people alive that still remember it."

"Oh." Understanding dawned on Hermione's face. "You're doing your project on the last wizarding war. On Voldemort."

Harry nodded. "I figured that since he somehow keeps coming back to kill me, I'd better find out a little bit about who he was, who followed him and who fought against him. I want to know a bit more about my parents too, instead of just hearing how much I look like my dad."

"And you can actually talk to people who took part in the war. Like Professor Lupin and the Headmaster," Ron added. "I was going to ask if you would help me with mine, but you'll probably have your hands full."

Hermione started to gather her things. "I need to go. I'll see you both in Divination."

"Wait, aren't you going to walk with us there?" Ron moved to stand, though it was clear to Harry that he hadn't finished his breakfast yet—and Ron never left the table without finishing breakfast.

"I have something I need to do first. I'll just meet you there."

She was gone a moment later and Ron sat down grumbling. "I thought we always go to class together. Why'd she have to go and change that now?"

"Her schedule did look a lot more full than either of ours," Harry put in diplomatically. "Maybe she needed to grab some of the books for the electives she's taking."

"But have you seen some of the classes she's taking? She's scheduled for both Divination with us and Ancient Runes at the same time! She can't be in two places at once!"

"Maybe she has some kind of independent study arrangement with the professors? I somehow doubt that something being physically impossible would stop her from doing anything she really wanted to do—especially if it involves books."

Ron shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth, humming in agreement. Merlin help the one who tried to get between Hermione and her studies.

* * *

 Harry thought that Professor Trelawney was a little odd before she opened her mouth. She had a pair of truly gigantic spectacles hanging on the end of her nose with lenses that looked like the bottoms of glass bottles. Her tan patterned skirt did not pair well with the magenta patterned blouse—it made her look like a bouquet of flowers that had been hit by a blasting charm. She was small and wiry and, in spite of her attempts to look wise and all-knowing, she came off looking like a skittish rabbit he'd seen once in Aunt Petunia's vegetable patch. It was only the frizzy brown hair, which reminded him so much of Hermione's untamable curls, that made Harry think that the woman knew what she was talking about.

A thought that died the moment she opened her mouth.

"Here in this room, you will see if you possess the Sight," she said dramatically, though the effect of her words was undermined by her leg colliding with the table that held her crystal ball.

Harry could see Ron wilting beside him as he watched the woman hurry to stabilize the table before she continued the lesson. She might not be as much help as he had hoped for his project. In an attempt to lighten Ron's mood, Harry leaned closer and whispered, "How can she see the future if she can't even see the table?"

Ron shook himself slightly and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Yeah. Maybe she knows more about seers than actually making a prophecy."

"Today we shall be reading tea leaves. So finish your tea and trade cups with your partner. Don't forget to consult your books."

Harry looked at the damp tea leaves in Ron's cup. _There's a blob attached to a blob and…oh, look, another blob._ He looked up at the others around the room who seemed just as confused as he did, turning their cups this way and that and squinting. The pictures in the books were far more obvious than the tea leaves in the cups.

Harry turned the cup again. From that angle, one of the blobs looked like an eye. From another, it looked like the rearing head of a unicorn—though what that meant was not to be found in the book sitting open beside his saucer. And though the image of the eye was clear on the book's cover, the number of meanings that were attached to it—all having to do with various types of sight or seeing—made the symbol rather useless for interpretation.

Frustrated, he looked up at Ron, expecting him to be as confused as he was. But Ron was staring intently into the cup, looking up only to turn the pages of the book. Harry couldn't help but think that Hermione would be proud of the youngest Weasley boy finally showing some concentration on his studies.

"What do you see?" Professor Trelawney asked Ron, causing him to jump.

"Oh, um. There's this wonky cross thing—and that means suffering—then there's this part that could be a sun, which is happiness." Ron cleared his throat, turning pink as he continued. "So you're going to suffer, but you're going to be happy about it. I think."

Professor Trelawney cocked her head. "Here. Let me see it."

Ron obligingly handed her Harry's cup. Trelawney stared into the cup. With a gasp of horror, she clutched the cup in trembling hands and looked up at Harry.

"My dear, I'm afraid you have the Grim."

Someone behind Harry helpfully supplied the definition outlined in the book. The penultimate omen of death. He would have laughed if people weren't looking at him as if they actually believed it. Sirius Black _had_ escaped from Azkaban after all, and general consensus was that the man would be coming after him. Perhaps they thought a crazed and zealous follower would succeed where Voldemort himself had failed.

Then Harry did laugh, dry and hysterical, terribly amused by the potential of that truly cruel irony.

* * *

 "It really isn't funny, Harry," Ron was saying after class was dismissed. "My uncle Bilius saw a Grim once and he died the next day."

"Well, I saw one and I'm still alive." Harry couldn't look at Ron or Hermione, so he just fiddled with the fraying strap of his school bag. He winced when he heard them both stop on the stairs behind him.

"In person?" Ron asked nervously. "Because seeing it in a tea cup and seeing it in person are two very different things."

"Of course he means in person, Ronald!"

Ron flinched at the use of his full first name. Hermione only used it when he said something especially stupid. Harry decided to spare him the lecture she was no doubt formulating as Ron edged away.

"It was there when I got on the Knight Bus," he explained. "It was actually the reason that I accidentally summoned it. But it was gone when I went to look again."

"Are you sure it was a Grim?" Hermione asked, already moving to lead them to the library. "I mean, none of us have seen them before. Or bothered to look them up for any reason. This is the first time it's been an issue."

"Yeah," Harry said sarcastically. "A death omen is just an issue. Sure."

They didn't speak again until they were in the Divination section of the library. Hermione had selected a book called _Animal Omens: What They Look Like and What They Mean_. She flipped through it until she found the section on the Grim. Then she turned the book around and tapped on the picture at the top of the page.

"There. That's a Grim. Is that what you saw?" she asked.

The picture showed a mangy black dog that looked a bit larger than Harry was tall growling at the camera. Or the cameraman. As the caption so helpfully provided, the man apparently died two days after he took the picture.

"Yeah, that's what I saw."

"And you didn't think to say anything to either of us?" Ron shuddered and closed the book.

"I thought it was just a big black dog. Like Hermione said, it's not like it came up before."

From across the room, Madame Pince pinned them with an icy stare and put a finger to her lips. The trio ducked their heads in apology.

"What did your uncle die of?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice.

"They said it was a heart attack."

"And he was afraid of the Grim. So he must have died of fright. Not the Grim. And Harry's faced things a lot scarier than a big black dog. Like the basilisk last year."

"Besides," said a male voice that they didn't recognize. "It's not like the Grim kills anyone who doesn't deserve it. And I'm certain Mr. Potter didn't deserve it."

Harry looked around, but there were no students nearby. Finally his eyes fell on a portrait hanging on the wall near them. The speaker was a fairly young man—no older than Professor Lupin—standing in front of a door with his arms crossed.

"Sorry. Who are you exactly?" Harry asked. Then realizing the question sounded slightly rude, he added, "I haven't seen you around the castle before."

"That would because I generally stay in my painting and mind my own business. But Grim are very old creatures. It's a miracle that they're still around."

"But who are you?" Ron echoed.

"I'm Mer—Marcus. Marcus Weatherby. If you didn't know what a Grim was, Mr. Potter, why are you interested all of the sudden?"

Harry explained the incident in Divination while Hermione put the book away.

"Hmm. If it makes you feel any better, I've heard it's not uncommon for Professor Trelawney to predict someone's death. But I've never heard of it coming true. You're probably pretty safe." Marcus ran a hand through his hair. "And tessomancy isn't an exact art; no form of divination is, but those tea leaves are just a little bit more finicky. Sometimes the picture is a literal representation of the future, although most textbooks focus more on the interpretive representation of a symbol. It's possible that the symbol of a Grim that your teacher saw only means that you will see that particular Grim again."

"That's it?"

"Which is easier to believe?" Marcus asked. "That you'll see a big black magical dog again or that you're going to die before the end of term. Actually, don't answer that. With your luck, Potter, it could be either."

Harry laughed. With his luck, the Grim would bring Voldemort with it next time.

"Just remember this, Potter. Perspective is everything. Something that looks pretty clear from one angle can be completely obscured by another. Being a painting, I have an advantage of seeing many different perspectives—one I wish I could grant to my living self. He has the unfortunate ability to miss what sitting right in front of him."

"Like what?" Hermione asked, shuffling her books back into her bag.

"Oh, just the important things," Marcus said, smiling. "I'd tell him, but he kind of needs to figure these things out on his own. But you'd better head to lunch before they decide to clear it away. You don't want to hang out in a dusty corner talking to a painting all day."

"No, but it's been interesting talking to you." Harry grabbed his bag and stood up. "I'd like to talk more, if we can."

Marcus covered his mouth as he laughed. "I'm a painting, Harry. It's not like I can go anywhere. But sure, feel free to come by and talk any time. If I'm not out, just knock on my door."

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, already halfway to the door. "We have Defense after lunch!"

* * *

Between the death omen in Divination and the boggart in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry was ready to call it a day by the time he sat down at the Gryffindor table that evening. He arranged to meet with Professor Lupin after dinner, but when that was over, he could go up to his bed and collapse. Or work on the Potions essay that was due tomorrow and then collapse. Either way, going to the first meeting of the new club was not on his agenda.

"Are you sure you don't want to go Harry?" Hermione asked as they sat down to dinner. "Ron agreed to go with me; I thought you would find it interesting."

"Maybe. But even if I wanted to go, I have a meeting with Professor Lupin after dinner. And then I have to finish the Potions essay. And with Quidditch, I really just don't have time for another club."

"Alright," she admitted. "I suppose you are really busy."

"And it's just supposed to be some kind of test anyway," Ron grumbled. "I don't know why I agreed to this."

"What kind of test?"

"Probably the same way he tested me," Hermione replied. "I wasn't really expecting anything to happen, but there was this rush and suddenly I was holding a light."

"That's it?" Harry asked. "Did he do something to you to make you produce it?"

"No. He just told me to hold out my hand palm up and say _Leoht_. It's like _lumos_ but wandless, and it looks like you can touch it—like it's solid."

"That doesn't sound like any of the spells we use."

"It's not. He said it was a different language of power." Hermione sighed and looked at the table. "I haven't been able to look into it much yet, but apparently there were four main languages of power: Latin, which we use today; Ancient Greek; Old English; and Ancient Hebrew. But some scholars say that these are only the European languages of power and that there are other languages of power in Asia, Africa and the Americas, but they can't pinpoint exactly which base languages they are like they can with the others." She blushed sheepishly. "I haven't gotten much farther than that. I've been trying to learn Old English. That's where the spell came from."

"Oh." Harry wasn't about to admit it to Hermione, but he was interested. Extremely interested. He had to wonder if phrases like 'watch your words' or 'be careful what you wish for' came from a time when their language was laced with magic and the things they said could have very real consequences.

But if he mentioned his interest, Hermione would find a way to convince him to come, and he still didn't want to trust Professor Balinor. The man hadn't done anything wrong yet, but he hadn't proven that he could be trusted either. And if both Ron and Hermione were going to join this club, he needed to stay on the outside to pull them out if something bad happened.

After he ate, he waved goodbye to his friends and started heading toward the Defense classroom.

 _He just told me to hold out my hand palm up and say 'Leoht'_. Hermione's words made him want to try it. It was just a light. Nothing would probably happen at all, anyway.

He slipped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, glad that the desks were still shoved against the wall so he wouldn't trip over anything.

Looking around to make sure that no one was watching—though who would see him in an empty classroom, he didn't know—Harry held out his hand palm up and whispered, " _Leoht._ "

Light flooded the room, spilling from the deceptively small orb that appeared, hovering just above his hand. Though he wanted to snatch his hand away, something stopped him. The light was bright, but nowhere near blinding. He stared at the little orb, which caused strange shadows on the walls.

 _It looks like a miniature blue sun_ , Harry thought absently. Then he heard the sound of someone fumbling with the door. As he dropped his hand to his side, the light blinked out, leaving grey spots in his vision.

"Ah, Harry. I thought that might be you." Professor Lupin stood in the doorway. "I suppose you want to know what I stopped you from facing the boggart today."

"I did—I do want to know, but I'm a little tired tonight." Harry was glad that it wasn't a lie. He felt exhaustion pulling at his mind and limbs. Along with a healthy dose of disbelief that the spell had actually worked. "Maybe we can meet tomorrow. It's mostly free because we have Astronomy in the evening."

"I think we can work something out." Lupin smiled knowingly. "Don't stay up too late. I'll see you tomorrow."

Harry left the classroom, trying not to look like he was in a hurry. _Hermione didn't say it would be that bright!_ And yet he had done it. He had proven that he had the special kind of magic Hermione had. He wasn't whether it was a shiver of excitement or fear that filled him, but he knew he'd be asking Ron and Hermione a lot more questions.


End file.
